The Light Within
by Sherrywine
Summary: *On Hiatus* Gwen Carrick mysteriously arrives in Middle Earth with no way to go home. Stuck. When evil appears, she finds herself caught up in saving the only world left to her. Along the way, she meets Éomer, Third Marshal and heir to the throne in Rohan. Their chemistry is explosive, but is lust enough to keep them together when duty, peril, and happenstance force them apart?
1. Passage

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and (just to cover all the bases) New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to me. I will not receive any remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. In addition, this work is my intellectual property, and may not be copied or redistributed without my express, written permission.

 _Flames are not tolerated – I only go for constructive criticism. If you don't like OCs in Tolkien's sandbox, or AU Tenth Walker fics, stay away!_

 _This story is rated M for a reason: language, violence, and eventual sexual situations._

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 **The Light Within,**

 **Prologue: Passage**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

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 _People are like stained-glass windows: they sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within._

~Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

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 _FO 63_

The royal hall of Meduseld, the resplendent creation of great king Brego, was as silent and still as a tomb. Its occupants were ensconced in mourning, the ladies of the court shrouded in black, and the servants were somber as they went about their daily tasks. Despite the strong autumn sun and pleasant temperature outside, the sweet-tempered blue jays that made the outer parapets home were lacking in song, and the mead-hall lay similarly hushed. It was as if the entire place had fallen victim to a curse. Such was the result of a beloved king's passing.

Deep inside the walls, Rohan's Queen grieved most strongly of all.

"Milady...?"

The soft voice of a servant girl, Elia, interrupted the quiet of the cool, August day, and the slip of a girl stepped tentatively into the Queen's private chamber. There was a wealth of uncertainty inside her words; the girl was unsure how she would be received. Even if she would _be_ received, for the Queen had closed herself off from all but her own children. The servant scanned the shadowed room, unable to locate the woman who she sought at first.

The Queen stood on the balcony. "My Queen… ?" Elia tried again, knowing her lady would need to hear the information she bore.

Ignoring the servant in favor of drinking in the last vestiges of that warm day on her face, the elder woman breathed in the crisp air sweet with fresh grass and herbs as she stood stiffly on the balcony.

The Queen could not bring herself to turn from the balcony and gaze into the girl's young, sweet face – not today of all days. A mourning day, indeed. The servant was a too-personal reminder of days gone by; with a face that, should she choose to look, would surely be as flushed with youthful life as her own face had once been, and never would be again. The years had passed for the Queen and her King all too quickly. Today was a day of deeply saddened reflection, and she could not shake that heavy specter named Grief.

Sighing lightly, features carefully schooled after many years of practice, the Queen allowed her thoughts to carry her away. She was _old,_ now; the years of her life had passed before her as steadily and swiftly and unrelenting as the coming of spring after a long winter. Those years had crawled so slowly, carrying both heavy sorrows and boundless joys. And yet, with one careful, long look back at the whole of her experiences, time seemed to have flashed away more quickly than she ever could have imagined. It was as if time had moved in a wave of experiences, there one second and receding the next.

There was a time when she was as meek and unsure as the maid herself. Now _she_ was an elder among her people. The Queen braved a look at her deeply veined hands, wincing at how they curved with arthritis and at how paper-thin skin layered over deep blue veins. Old, indeed. On this day of days, for the first time in her life, the Queen truly felt her age.

Yet the mirror did not reflect the person she saw in her mind's eye. Had it only been days past that she and her husband had playfully bemoaned the failings of old age to one another? No longer had they been able to chase and run about with their grandchildren, and the hot flood of desire that had been ever present between them had lowered to a simmering awareness never to be forgotten, though rarely stirred.

"You are as beautiful to me as you were when we met," he had said, big, bony hands cupping her wrinkled cheeks. He had to have been lying, but after these many years, he knew how to make her smile. That gentle side that so few ever saw.. He had never been a man of sweet words of comfort; Éomer was a warrior through and through, and the many years at his side had not blunted the sharp blade his words could wield in a battle of words, nor the wickedness of his intellect. Though he rarely scored _her_ with his weapons of speech anymore, many a man had had the unfortunate experience of facing them.

And then, sooner than she would ever be prepared for, he was gone. It was in these quiet moments that she struggled the most with his passing. It was an empty vacuum of space without him in it. She was left alone – a half of what once was whole. Without him, suffocating and dying a slow death herself. The grief could scarcely be managed. Tomorrow, she would bury the man her heart and her very future had been given to. The enormity of that task she could not face. Not yet. Only years of training had kept her tears from drowning her.

Knowing the servant girl was waiting on her, albeit patiently, the Queen of Rohan finally turned, gracing the young woman with a small smile, the tremble in her lips barely discernible, and certainly not to the young girl in front of her. The gesture could not possibly reach her eyes, despite her efforts. It was enough that she was trying, and all of Edoras could see that, at least.

"Elia," the queen murmured gently, gliding towards the youthful, small girl despite the age of her limbs, "You have news for me."

It was not a question. The Queen already knew what information the girl had come to share with her. The servant met her clear gaze tentatively before sliding away, in awe and embarrassment. This was her Lady, a woman she knew to be many things: kind of heart, gentle and loving of spirit, delicate of bone and muscle, but strong and as enduring as the mountains in the distance. This woman had seen and done many things, weathered many hurts. But never, never, _never_ had anyone seen _that_ look upon her face.

A soul shattered irrevocably.

The Queen thought she knew what the servant saw as she looked into in her face. Deep grooves of time, marked there by so many years of laughter and love, now stamped clearly with grief. She was unaware of how transparent she had become, and saw only how there was pain mirrored in the young servant's eyes. All of Rohan was grieving just as she was, for its' good king lost to death's embracing sleep. It was all so unexpected. As a woman, the Queen wanted to lay down and die along with him, but as a Queen, she knew there was no other choice but to endure. So while Rohan grieved the loss of noble, prosperous, _good_ years that had passed under Éomer's reign, his Queen could not afford to. Her husband would have expected no less from his consort.

How would she get through the next day? Even now her mind strayed from duty.

The Queen despaired and trembled inside, knowing all that would be expected of her in the coming weeks. Even as her spirit cried out in anguish, she could barely breathe for want of her man beside her. She had forgotten what life was like without him in it. Forgotten what it was like to mourn a life forever changed and gone from her sight. _My love, I need you so._..

But so, too, did the whole of Rohan need her. They would need her strength and wisdom now more than ever. There was little choice. Squaring her shoulders, the queen drew herself up and took a deep breath, having all but forgotten the servant girl waiting nearby who watched her with questioning eyes. Yes, she would do this, because her husband would have wanted it – nay, more than that – he would have expected her to shoulder this as strongly as she was able.

Her son would ask for her wisdom in his first days as King, of course. His advisers would continue to look to her for guidance even after his coronation. She was _needed,_ now, more than ever. But how would she manage without the other half of her very being? It was a question she could not answer. She did not know, and perhaps never would. Truthfully, her old age and growing list of infirmities reminded her that the resiliency of youth had faded from her life with the passage of years.

The Queen's thoughts ran away from her again, as they did more often of late, but the young servant's soft voice brought her back to the cruel present.

"The King of Gondor has arrived, milady," the servant reminded her. Ah, yes. Aragorn and Lady Arwen had arrived. So, too, had a delegation from Ithilien who had come to mourn the King's passing, among them the King's own sister and brother-in-law. But the servant girl would not know outright that they were separate parties, given that for so long they had been one along the craggy roads of Rohan. The Queen inclined her head in acknowledgment of the announcement, the motion regal if stilted. She wondered how many others from the years past would come to grieve for Rohan's mighty king.

"I will be there momentarily, thank you," she murmured, turning again to the balcony, drawing whatever comfort from the vision of the city below that she could. Though the Queen had lived in Rohan for many years, her voice carried a note of foreignness that the servant girl found no less odd than the first time she had heard it. It was faint and barely discernible above the reedy, thin quality grief had given to the Lady's speech, and it would be impolite to inquire about it. Knowing she had been dismissed, Elia curtsied deeply and backed out of the chamber as silently as she came, leaving the door slightly ajar without a word. Heavy silence descended within the room once more, save for the faint shouts of men and women and children going about their lives in the village below, that could be heard through the open balcony doors.

The stillness and renewed quiet of the room no longer comforted the old Queen, but instead turned to suffocating loneliness. Her grief, it seemed, would not be assuaged today no matter what she tried. Never in her whole life had she felt this kind of crushing sadness.

Even looking at her empty marriage bed, filled yet with many happy memories, brought pain. Her legs shook weakly within her stockings, wobbling and swaying under her slight weight. Unable to support herself any longer, the Queen took the few remaining steps toward her bed before collapsing within its soft folds. Heedless of her clothing or hair, she buried her face in the sheets. _I could sleep for a thousand years._

Life as she had known it was changed; those who knew her best would understand how difficult that would be for her. Never had she been fond of the ever-changing nature of time. She was old, but for the first time in her life, she felt aged. Truly aged and tired. Turning her head into a down-stuffed pillow, she breathed deeply, willing herself to rise and continue as her husband would want. His masculine, woodsy smell surrounded her then, strong and pure. _Her husband._ Musk and horse flesh and pure Éomer. Tears came, then, for the first time since his passing, and a breathy, soft sob escaped her chest, feeling as hot as a volcano and twice as unstoppable. Burning tears coursed her face, and for the first time in days, she cried freely.

"Oh, Éomer..."

The Queen allowed herself this moment of weakness, unable to bear the weight of her duties any longer. It turned quickly to anger when a knock sounded at the door, interrupting that badly needed moment of personal space. Before she had a chance to turn her disturber away, the door opened to reveal the young, so familiar face of an old friend. Recognition, followed by shock, struck the elderly woman. Joy mingled with grief to see _that_ face in the doorway. Gasping, the Queen righted herself sloppily from the bed, seeking to rise. The woman had moved too quickly, though, and the Queen found herself together on the bed with her. Wordlessly, she was taken up in a warm embrace.

"I never expected to see you here again," Rohan's queen breathed out from within those slight, comforting arms. Sighing heavily, overwhelmed by emotion, sobs welled up from her throat once more. It grew into the keening wail of a woman who could take no more. After a moment trapped within its clutches, conscious thought returned, and all the Queen could think of was gratitude, for the comfort of an old, old friend. "Thank you..." she choked. "Thank you for coming." She pulled away to stare at the other woman, as if she could not believe her presence. Her eyes met her friend's sad, ever-haunted gaze incredulously.

"There are many things that might have kept us away," The newcomer replied huskily, her cracked voice – equally emotional – was comforting. "But no fears or doubts were so important as knowing you were dealing with this," she finished. Solemn gazes connected. "I'm sorry." The Queen could feel her friend's sadness. Anguish could be heard clearly in the woman's voice. "So, so sorry. Haldir and I came as soon as we were brought word from the courier."

The Queen nodded, knowing already the Marchwarden would be close. For the past fifty odd years, he had remained at his beloved wife's side, scarcely straying from her company without cause. Blue eyes clashed with green; concern, as well as a darker emotion, lingered like a shroud between them. The Queen knew how much it had cost her friend to leave the safety of her enchanted woodland home, and was more than grateful she had come to support her in this painful time.

"How are you doing?," her friend demanded, roughly, after a moment's silence. "Tell me honestly – no bullshit." The crassness of her words was jarring after so long without hearing it spoken in such a manner. The woman's odd gaze pierced right through her soul in that strange way her friend had always been able to do. When she didn't answer immediately, the younger woman made an impatient noise in her throat, knowing it was the Queen in her friend who would seek to cover the raw truth from everyone. "This is _me_ you're with now, you know; Not with the kids, not with the others. _Me._ "

It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her in such a casual, unusual manner aside from Éomer, and her words sounded almost as foreign to her ears as they both truly were to this land. The Queen laughed softly, truly comforted by her friend's presence in a way no other could have provided. She couldn't put her thoughts or feelings into words. Helplessly, the Queen shrugged, willing the words that would not come.

Her friend grew more impatient quickly, as was just like her. "Damn it. You don't have to be strong with me," she pleaded. "I can see your pain." She could see a lot more, too, and the effort at keeping her shattered mind from collapsing under the weight of emotional battering was almost more than she could take. The Queen winced at her friend's words. Was it so obvious, then? _But of course it was._ Tears welled in the Queen's eyes as her beloved Éomer's face hovered in her mind's eye. Her stoic resolve to hide the depth of her pain crumbled into nothingness, and the words flowed more freely.

"I feel like my heart is gone," she murmured softly at last, rubbing her hands together in an unconsciously comforting gesture. "Ripped clean from my chest." She slipped into her natural, emotive style of speaking without thinking, lifting an arm unconsciously. "Worse even than when Bean..." she trailed off, eyes unseeing, unable to turn her mind away from all that she had lost in the years past. Her hands clenched in sudden anguish, twisting uncomfortably in her lap, and a trace of anger laced through the pain in her features.

"And...damn it, I'm _definitely_ old now," she said with a hint of a smile on her lips. "You can say it... " She lifted shaky hands to rub at her face even as the old joke between them made her smile through the tears that managed to track down her face. She had always joked about her friend's fractured agelessness. Compared to _her,_ her friend looked as new as a spring lily; she hadn't aged a day since the first time she had been seen in this land, while the Queen had grown more wrinkled and gray with every day that passed. The old Queen's whole body shuddered with her next breath as she struggled for control.

"I don't have a clue how to handle this... " she admitted helplessly, meeting her friend's gaze once more. It was hard to admit that she was adrift and unable to cope. " _He_ was the King." Her eyes were expressive, and worried with an old fear. "I was never meant to be Queen of _anything,_ except he went and made me one," she reminded her friend insistently. Her voice was softly horrified, and the helplessness within her voice tugged at her friend's heartstrings. "Now he's gone..." she trailed off, "and I don't know how to handle it. I was never supposed to have to do this without him. This world has been crueler than I ever believed possible." A note of regret hung in her voice.

Her breath rattled in her old lungs. Her friend's gaze grew sympathetic even as it hardened momentarily. There were many cruel things to be found in Middle Earth, her friend knew. Thoughts of the past trickled into her mind. "You know, there were a lot of things that were never supposed to happen to us, my old friend, and yet they have." Old hurts still lingered between them. Blame and accusation had long since passed away for both of them, but some old wounds never healed. The two women, one old with age, and the other, young and in the bloom of life, shared a long, knowing, weary look. Finally, the younger woman sighed, and reached out for the Queen. Young hands clasped old and held firmly. "But," the younger woman allowed in a gravelly voice, "I suppose it _did_ turn out for the better." She sighed again, leveling her gaze at her friend again, cracking a smile when the older woman's countenance broke.

"And tell me this, old friend," the young-looking woman began, "Does this event make you wish you had gone back after all, when you had the chance? That you had never met Éomer?" The woman couldn't resist the question. Once a point of contention between them, the lost opportunities of the past had been cushioned with time. For her, at least. Haldir had been worth every tortuous pain she had endured in Middle Earth. She was curious about the Queen's reply. Though she would have been able to read her deeply regardless, the woman saw the play of emotions on the Queen's face like a book.

The Queen looked momentarily alarmed and hurt, then paused, contemplating the whole of her happy, joyous life in Rohan, laced with pain and tragedy. _How could she regret the years she and Éomer had spent together?_ It was unthinkable. "No," she said. "I don't." The Queen shook her head, stared at her veined hands, curling with arthritis in her lap. Her friend's eyes were compassionate and firm when she raised her eyes to meet her gaze.

"Then do not look for regrets after all this time, old friend," she replied. "Not now, near the end. It will only drive you mad."

* * *

2012

She was dreaming... again.

Gwendolyn Carrick had experienced the same scene over and over in her dreams so many times it failed to surprise her that it was occurring yet again. _Some things a person carries with them always, even if they don't want to._ Her best friend's words echoed through the dream-state, and she was forced to acknowledge the truth in them. If she had a choice, Gwen would never have remembered anything of this night, much less dreamed of it. She didn't have a choice at all.

She was running. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with every dreamed - _no_ , every _remembered_ heartbeat. Sobs tore their way up her throat as fear took hold in her gut, and her ears recognized the sound of the terrible taunts that chased her once more. "You can't run from me, Gwen. Gwen. Gwen..." His voice echoed in her mind, and, instinctively, she flinched even in sleep. The scene whirled maniacally, impossibly, making her dizzy, and Gwen tripped, catching herself against a tree and shuddering at the pain of her twisted ankle. There was no sensation at the touch of her fingers on the tree. She couldn't recall how the bark felt against her skin. How odd.

She ran, despite her ankle.

He had pursued her unceasingly that night, or so she had been told. Gwen didn't recall this about her ordeal, at least in her waking hours, but the cuts on her feet had taken _weeks_ to heal. In the dream, she could see his endurance clearly exceeded her own, and that he gained ground on her easily... so very easily. In her dreams it seemed almost inhuman that he could move so quickly, even if logic told her it was only her subconscious fears that made it seem that way.

The terror had risen in her so quickly, she remembered, like a living, breathing entity. Even in her dreams, why this was happening to her was not apparent. It had seemed, then, and still seemed, now, to be simply a random act of violence. Gwen wanted to shake herself awake, to draw herself away from the terrible, painful memories, but she had never been able to manage it before, and tonight was no different. It was as if her mind forced her to relive every moment, over and over, night after night, to force her to accept it until she was healed. _Scarred_ , but healed. She had lived this once, though. Truly _lived_ it, and once was enough. She would learn some lesson from this, Gwen was certain.

Like always, she was forced to watch from her dreaming vantage point as the man with demon-bright, savage eyes beat into her. The smell of alcohol on his breath was so strong it made her gag. He had been a beast, clawing at her breasts, biting her neck. Ravaging her skin. She had been a black and blue mess for weeks afterward. The nurses in the hospital had assured her she was safe, and she had been _physically_ , at least; no amount of assurance could dispel the dreams from her sleep or the fear that had lingered in her heart for months afterward. The dreams had come nearly every day for months after it had happened. It was not surprising that she would dream of his horrible, twisted face, and perverted eyes during this night, in particular.

It was a year to the day from her attack.

In the dream, when the tormentor's movements became hurried, less taunting, and more deliberate, Gwen knew the end was thankfully near. The dull black of the blade scarcely gleamed in the moonlit sky, and the cold of that September seeped into her very bones until she felt she would never be warm again. As the knife slashed her skin, Gwen's sleeping form traced the white scars on her body, groaning as pain leaped and pulsed down her body. Heat suffused her skin, and she began to burn from the inside out.

He had sought to kill her, that much she was certain of. What she might never understand was _why._ With a final, plunging stroke, he nearly _had_ taken her life. That plunge to the gut, as always, wrenched Gwen from sleep, her body dripping wet with sweat and tears, her chest heaving with the force of her gasps, and fear pounding through her veins. For a moment visions of the past clung to her sight, Gwen clutched her side as pain swamped her already electrified body, covering the shiny patch of scar tissue below her ribcage. Black spots burst into her eyes, shocking her. _What the fuck was that?_

Something was happening. Her wounds pulsed with energy, and it made her heart stutter, but she refused to give in to the blackness calling to her. Instead, she chanted, "You survived. He did not take you, and he never will. He didn't win." She repeated the words, a mantra, over and over until her breath began to even, and the blackness receded. Whatever energy had sizzled within the tent was gone. With a sob, Gwen faced reality and let go of her fears. She had been lucky. _So_ lucky. All the other victims had been raped...brutalized...tortured, really. But she had not been. Gwen had been saved.

 _Lucky._

Her tears ceased to flow as her gasps for air had calmed to deep breaths. They would always be just dreams, Gwen knew logically. Never again real. And that – _that_ had been the true comfort she had gained from her sleep. Still panting, she glanced around her, trying to recall herself and the events of the previous day. The morning light filtered through the small canvas tent, creating a dim illumination within. She saw the beautiful woven green of her favorite throw blanket covering her. The thick waves of deep chestnut hair curling over her breasts. The slimness of her fingers. She had been blessed with this ability, of finding beauty in common things. It had saved her life, once, and kept her from going insane from wondering why _she_ had been attacked.

Determinedly, Gwen shut the thoughts of her past trauma away, and sought the newness of the day, mind whirling.

There was something quite remarkable about the beginning of a fresh day. Perhaps it was the sense that at each waking moment, the hours that followed would be a chance for something new and different to occur. Maybe something special, something good. _Or something terrible._ The lingering, hateful thought was immediately banished. Her demons were wrong: the new day was an opportunity to walk an unknown path, to learn that which was previously unheard of. The promise of each morning was an irresistible call for her.

Gwen sat up from her thick sleeping bag with a leisurely stretch and a half-yawn, a small smile gracing her face. It really was a beautiful morning. Her friend Jessie's idea for an impromptu weekend camping trip in the hills of southern California was just what she needed to help get her through the particularly difficult week. Gwen's stomach growled raucously, interrupting her internal monologue and demanding food, and with a small laugh she flung the blanket from her lap carelessly and crawled from the pallet.

"Jessie!" She drew out the syllables, calling to her friend in a sing-song voice. _I wonder if she'll have breakfast ready._ Jessie was the early-riser of the pair of them. When her friend didn't respond immediately, Gwen's brow furrowed in concern and confusion. _Or maybe not._ Unzipping her tent, Gwen crawled out and into the September sun. Expecting to see the tall pines of the countryside nearby and the lake in the distance, she was surprised and confused when there was nothing to be seen around her but open, swampy field around her, with high, unkempt grasses surrounding her. Far in the distance, to the southwest, was a massive, darkly green forest, but not one sign of the lake could be found. Things just looked... wrong.

Never one to fall into instant panic, Gwen mentally cataloged the possible explanations for the change in scenery and came up with precisely nothing logical at all. But what could explain _this_? _Well… Jessie could be playing a joke on me, but that doesn't seem like her at all._ Gwen saw no sign of her friend anywhere around either, not even her tent or bag. Stumped, she did a slow turn around the camp, searching for any clue where Jessie could have gone. Nothing. _What in the devil is going on?_

Gwen, stood, baffled, glaring into the sunlight. Where _the hell am I?_

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 _Please review._


	2. Impossibility

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Just to reiterate, I am re-posting my story here as a benefit to both you and I - because some major revisions have occurred in my story in the two years I've "not updated." While I've not spent that time writing NEW material, I have gone back and looked at things again, many times, with an eye toward improvement and continuation of this story. There is so much left to say, and I didn't want my older readers being confused when the new stuff came because some things were changed. So I chose to take the old story down for good (as much as it pained me) and start re-posting. I think you'll find my updates are more frequent than weekly, as I'm merely working through already written material now, and checking and re-checking for mistakes._

 _Truly, though? It's better for me, because it keeps my muse on track after all this time._

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 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter One: Impossibility**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

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Gwen was close to going into full-on panic mode.

It had been more than six hours since she had awoken to find herself alone in an area she didn't recognize with no trace of her friend in sight. Thinking perhaps Jessie was playing some sort of trick on her, Gwen had stayed and waited for her to reappear...and had been waiting all this time since. It was now nearing two o'clock, and with hunger gnawing its way through her abdomen, she would be forced to leave soon for the nearest gas station if she didn't want to be caught alone at night in this unknown place, starving. It unnerved her to have not seen any sign of her friend at all, and there was no logical explanation to be found for her current circumstances.

Left with only growing anger towards her missing friend, Gwen was quickly discovering just how moody she could really be.

"What kind of friend leaves no food for another friend who she knows is all by herself _all_ day?" She grumbled to herself, dragging her shoe through the dirt at her feet for the thousandth time. She couldn't shake the growing dread in her abdomen. _What if she doesn't know you're here?_ But what other explanation could there be? Nothing else made sense. Gwen checked her cell phone again, hoping that she would miraculously have a text or call from Jessie or her parents. No signal. The taunting flash of the empty tower bar in the upper right hand screen had not changed in the hours since she had dug it out of her pack in an effort to get up with someone. With a growl of pure anger and frustration, Gwen banged the slim device against the log she sat on, whimpering when the front screen shattered and went dead.

"Ah _shit!_ " _Well, that's just the cherry on top of today's crap sandwich._ Overwhelmed with anger and rising worry, Gwen jerked herself up off the log to stomp around, throwing the now useless phone into the dirt at her feet. It was immature, but she definitely felt like screaming at something. _Or someone!_

"This is the worst joke ever, Jessie!" Gwen shouted into the grassy hills. She didn't care who heard her shout at the top of her lungs; in fact, she _wanted_ someone to hear her. Hopeful, she trailed off into silence, listening for any response. The sounds of sweet birdsong and the light breeze across the knee-high grass were the only sounds she could discern in reply. Gwen rubbed her face, absently noting the sting of what was surely sunburn across her skin. She was beginning to feel nauseous with worry. _I hope Jessie's okay._ Sighing, all anger spent, she reseated herself on the moldy log again, trying not to notice the bugs crawling all over it. Bugs were _so_ not her thing.

But in all reality, none of what was currently happening to her - or rather, the lack of anything happening to her - was her thing. She was a creature of habit, and oftentimes resented change. This whole event had thrown her for a loop. Deep down, she knew something was terribly, unusually wrong. Jessie would not have done this to her. It wasn't in her nature to be cruel, in jest or not. And there was certainly no rationalizing how she could leave her friend on a night like last night, knowing how hard it was for Gwen to bear.

It didn't look as though she would be back anytime soon, leaving Gwen to wonder what had happened to her, which would have been a concern for Jessie. Her friend had always been conscientious of such things. Her stomach rumbled, interrupting Gwen's thoughts, demanding sustenance she couldn't give it at the moment. Sighing, she flicked a big June bug away from her on the log. She couldn't wait here forever. What choice did she have but to leave wherever _here_ was?

Her food was gone and her water supply was low, a more dangerous prospect than merely being without food. Dehydration was deadly. Also, it would be unwise to wait too late to find the nearest sign of civilization; walking in the dark was dangerous as well as stupid. She knew better than most girls her age the dangers of those who lurked in the dark. With a critical eye, Gwen stood and canvassed the area around her again, noting a beaten dirt road to the northeast, and settled on a plan. _I'll just find the nearest town and call a cab._ Then she'd get back to the campground to see if Jessie had returned, and if so, kick her inconsiderate ass for this whole mess, though her gut instinct told her the girl had nothing at all to do with this current turn of events.

The decision made, Gwen began to clean up the campsite, wincing when one leg tingled painfully as blood flow returned to the limb. Carefully folding her blanket up and placing it into her pack, she swallowed the last slug of cool water and tossing the empty water bottle on top to refill later wishing with all her heart she had saved that box of Twinkies from last night.

She made quick work of the one-person tent, pausing only to inspect the strange area of burnt-looking grass around it. _Wonder what caused that?,_ she thought, rolling it tightly and stowing it into its smallish shoulder bag. It stank heavily of sulfur, and something had clearly caused damage to the grass, which was blackened and yellowed. But the tent itself was unharmed. Interesting.

Thankfully, her single change of clothing fit entirely in her pack, and together with the tent wouldn't be too heavy to carry by herself, but unfortunately she would have to leave the fold-up cot behind. The packed-up tent barely cleared the ground from her shoulder, which would make walking with it less than enjoyable, but manageable on its own. Lugging it together with the folded cot, it would be too heavy for her to manage alone in the tall grass. Her legs weren't that long; A statuesque model she would never be at 5'2.

The golden grains of grass swayed gently in the breeze; it seemed, from her vantage point, that the flat land on which she stood stretched for miles, and the grasses grew across it like a sea of bright waves. Had she not had to trek through the stuff, Gwen would have marveled more at how untouched the land around her was. For as far as her eyes could see, there were no buildings, cemented roads, nor the subtle roar of nearby traffic. It was an utterly serene, picturesque landscape. Even the air smelled clean and free from toxic gases.

But she had little time to admire the view, if she was to make it to the nearest inhabited place without fainting from weakness. Gwen made her way carefully through the tall grass, hyper-aware of each step. To her aggravation, the tent across her shoulder bumped her butt with each large step she took, and Gwen had to be careful not to lose her balance and go tumbling into the grass that grew to her chest. To anyone observing her exaggerated, carefully planned movements, they might have found her comical, but such caution was absolutely necessary by her thinking. Though it was beautiful, the high grass hid a great many creepy crawlies. She could step on a snake or some such other nasty creature. Being alone, risking a bite by a poisonous animal could be a nightmare. _Not to mention the damn slithery things are horrible, creepy, slimy, nasty creatures._

Gwen shuddered. It seemed she had an irrational fear of things that crawled. Or slithered. To distract herself, she began to recite the first thing to come to her mind, which happened to be the Emancipation Proclamation. She'd been reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln last week for her American History course, and it seemed to have stuck with her. "Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent...," Her voice was low and didn't carry far, and the cadence of her words aided her steps. Soon, she found herself falling into a kind of rhythm as she moved, which made the rather miserable journey a little more bearable.

Lucky for her, her legs were the greater part of her height and Gwen made a good pace out of the field and into more kept land, where the grass was much shorter and more navigable, and less likely to hold creepy crawlies that liked the tall, rather muddy area she had come out of. Really, it was a miracle that she hadn't soaked her feet walking through the amber waves of grass. Slightly winded from her short, intense trek, Gwen paused at the edge of the beaten road, breathing in the sweet, clear air and noting the landscape again with appreciation. This time, her view was unobstructed by the grass.

The surrounding hills and gentle sloping meadows were dotted with fruit-bearing trees, some heavy with their goods despite it being autumn, and, farther away, larger forests lay thick and dense to the northeast and south. Neat, thick, healthy hedgerows separated what must have been individual land holdings every so often. The mid-afternoon sun cast everything in a golden glow that wasn't too bright on her eyes. _What a beautiful area._

The view improved her mood for a moment, until she realized she was not where she needed to be just yet. Resettling the heavy pack on her shoulders to ease the ache growing there, Gwen found herself wanting to curse her (lack of) fortune. She _really_ didn't want to have to walk - at all. Though she had to admit walking on the road would be much more enjoyable than walking through the chest high sea of grass she had come from. _Time to put on your big girl panties, Gwendolyn. Might as well try and get some enjoyment out of this fiasco._ If she was lucky, she might even find Jessie along the way.

For the next hour or so, Gwen strolled along the well-trodden road at a comfortable pace, almost enjoying the quiet peace that seemed to permeate the area. A half hour or so after that, with no sign of a town or even a single road sign, she started to worry again. Nothing looked familiar to her, and she had seen no sign of Jessie or the campground they had been staying in. _Surely I couldn't have been moved so far from the camp!_

Knowing how all-consuming her nightmares could be, however, Gwen knew it was a possibility she could have slept through the entire trip. But that still begged the question: if it wasn't Jessie's doing, who had moved her, and why? Her stomach growled a loud protest once more, pulling Gwen from her thoughts and reminding her she that hadn't eaten all day. Misery was apparently an empty stomach, because her black mood returned fairly quickly after that, followed ironically by an ever-darkening sky that signaled coming rain.

As the sun began to fall behind the trees in the distance, Gwen sped up as much as she was able, praying to see _anything_ that would lead her back to civilization. A car. A sign. Another person. Anything! Between the coming rain and impending nightfall, she would be royally screwed without help.

As she thought this, a good ways down the road a wooden road sign became faintly visible. Relieved beyond words, Gwen double-timed it to the sign, only to collapse at the base of it in weariness. Groaning in pure satisfaction, she removed her pack and leaned against the post, freezing when it creaked ominously and shifted under her weight. _Well...so much for resting._ Cautiously, she pulled away from it, praying it wouldn't tip over and leave her with another mess to add to the monster pile of bullshit she had been dealing with all day. _You need to get into shape, Gwendolyn Carrick._ Luckily, she made it to her feet without injury.

Stretching her aching back, she turned to study the sign, curious to know where she was. The hewn wooden posts were carved ornately and stained a dark brown. It was obviously a task done regularly by someone, that much she could tell. Oddly enough, it was one of those old-fashioned things with posts pointed towards different directions rather than a common metal thing that the transportation department seemed to favor to mark the distances.

One post pointed west, indicating in that direction she would find a place called Buckland. She did not recognize the name. _Huh, okay._ Another directed travelers to a place called Archet to the north, and to the east, to a place called Bree. Gwen had heard of none of those places, at least to be found in the state of California. There was a number beside each town name that she assumed was the distance away from the sign. Taking another long look down the road in either direction, Gwen could see no sign of a town, a house, or a sign that another person even existed here but her, and she was beginning to find it scary. _Why is this all so strange?_

Brow furrowed, Gwen bit her lip as worry for herself and for Jessie overwhelmed her consciousness. She tried not to cry, completely at a loss for relativity – at the impossibility of her situation. _There hasn't even been a single car on this road!_ The sun was fast fading behind the trees, leaving her in increasing darkness, and that frankly scared the crap out of her more than anything. Deciding on going east, towards the closest town, she hitched the suddenly-heavy tent back on her shoulder before setting out once more.

She really was going to kill her friend when she got back to civilization.

* * *

Just as the sun finally sank beneath the western sky, cold drops of rain began to fall, pelting her mercilessly and drenching her in mere minutes. The temperature had fallen drastically as the rainclouds rolled in, leaving the air around her feeling more like winter than fall. Her jeans, t-shirt, and sweatshirt did little to keep her dry against the rain, and soon she was shaking and stiff from the cold. Gwen struggled to keep moving, feeling like she was wading through drying cement.

The sound of hooves upon the road caused her to look up warily, searching through the fast fading light for the cause. The sight of the passing horse-drawn carriage sent an irrational bolt of joy through her, but the rider didn't stop for her, even when she called out. Fleetingly she wondered at the odd sight of the antiquated method of travel, but all intellectual thought was soon driven away by her increased hunger and need for warmth and dry clothes.

"Asshole!" She muttered, wanting to punch the driver for his heartlessness.

Cursing the weather, Gwen walked through the increasingly torrential rains, drenched and very cold. Desperate to have something warm around her, she finally pulled out her thick, beautiful throw, pulling it around her shoulders before tossing the pack across her back to keep it in place. It helped for a moment or two, but in the cold downpour it was soaked through in minutes. Her feet throbbed with icy, aching pains, and with every step she took water squished in her socks. Hours passed, and she slogged on, so hungry she thought about eating the grass under her mud-covered shoes.

 _Effing cold. Effing rain. Effing walking._

To say she was not happy was an understatement. Finally, Gwen began to see the glowing lights of Bree ahead, and she sent up a prayer of thanks that she would soon be out of the cold and rain and into a warm bed. Suddenly, a fierce, inhuman shriek rose up close by, nearly scaring the life from her aching body. "Good gracious!" Gwen yelped, jumping about a foot into the air. She stiffened in reaction to fear, to the point that she thought she'd break in half from the strain on her aching joints. _That was not a friendly sound._

Instinct told her whatever made that noise would not be kind to her.

The sound of hooves on the road coming toward her rankled her nerves, despite that caustic inner-voice that told her it was _just_ a horse. She considered moving off the road entirely to avoid whatever was fast approaching, only to realize she had stopped moving altogether, frozen like a deer caught in a car's headlights. A chill stole over her already icy frame, and all the warmth leeched from her very heart, convincing her she would never be happy or warm again. _Oh what the fuck?!_ Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, because the icy cold feeling within her couldn't be real.

The feeling was not wholly unfamiliar to her, though, and niggled at her most horrifying memories. _What the hell is that?_ Even as her nerves shrieked at her in warning, she strained to see into the darkness, frozen in the road. Even the faint lights in Bree weren't enough to aid her vision in seeing beyond the sopping gloom.

Still the sound grew louder. She fought the not-quite-irrational urge to run away. Old fears awakened in her, and suddenly the same voice that had heralded so much pain in her past rushed to the forefront of her consciousness to replace reality, and she was running again, tripping and falling into the damp earth. For long moments cold, punishing hands clasped her as she lay there, and the shadowed face and swirling yellow-orange eyes were all her sight could see. Her own cry mingled with the moaning wind, but the images vanished as quickly as they had come, leaving her staring into the muck and mud beneath her hands and feet, horrified that she had even moved a step. Steps she couldn't remember taking. Shocked, she started to rise.

Another inhuman shriek returned her to the present, chilling her very marrow, and Gwen knew without a shadow of a doubt something very evil was riding that horse. Suddenly quite aware of how alone she was, Gwen huddled into the sloped incline of the road, ignoring the brackish rainwater inches from her face. Heart hammering, she lay still as death, praying that, whatever the thing was, it wouldn't notice her as it passed. She held her breath, her lungs burning with the effort.

Luckily, the rider didn't see her as it emerged from the thickened fog to pass where she lay, and after a long moment Gwen rose to her knees from the puddle, watching the rider as it galloped away from her. He – she assumed it was a _he_ anyway, judging by the breadth and width of the rider – was clad in all black, a long robe that obscured every inch of his form and matched his equally dark steed. It was obvious he was riding hard, as the distance he was placing between them increased by the second – that it was away from her was all she could concern herself with.

The fingers of ice that had wrapped around her heart lessened their grip the farther away he rode. She breathed a sigh of relief, trying to gain a semblance of calm after the disturbingly close encounter. She went to move back onto the road, only to receive the second shock of her life at the appearance of a very short boy with a thick head of dark curls beside her. A bolt of shock nearly sent her to the ground again.

"Oh _Jesus H._ Christ," she panted, clutching her chest, glaring unconsciously at the cause of her fright. Gwen's heart hammered furiously, but her fear was rapidly replaced with concern for this boy. _What was a child doing out here – alone?_ "What are you _doing_ out here?" she cried, sounding harsh and not meaning to at all. The boy didn't respond, instead seeming to study her curiously. He stood no higher than her chin, was completely barefoot, and soaked to the bone. _Is he an orphan?_ He was not particularly thin or ragged, so she almost immediately discarded the thought.

"You felt it, too?"

His eyes were solemn and serious, but he ignored her question in favor of his own and he watched her with a clear trace of suspicion in his gaze. Another very short boy appeared at her elbow, making her jump a bit and diverting her reply momentarily, and was followed closely by two others. _What the...?_

She gaped at them stupidly, mouth working like a fish out of water. Rain drizzled down onto her tongue, wetting it pleasantly and reminding her that she should be thirsty. Gwen's nerves were already completely shattered by the rider, and these boys' odd medieval appearance, short stature, and extremely hairy feet were the the straw that broke the camel's back for her. The woman, who had prided herself on her ability to handle anything life threw at her, fainted dead away before she could give a single reply, leaving the four boys scrambling to catch her.

Luckily for Gwen, one caught her gently and eased her back to the ground. The fainting spell lasted only a few seconds, as if her body needed an internal reset to be able to handle the day's events, and she lay on the cold, wet, muddy ground helplessly, trying to pretend she wasn't starving, scared, and miserable.

Gwen blinked, trying to see through the rain and black of night, but even the boys' forms a few feet away were blurry through the rain.

"Look at you!" one voice said, but it sounded garbled, coming out like 'Look atchoo.'

"...scaring women to fainting spells. I always did say you have the ugliest face, Frodo." _What kind of name is Frodo?_ Another boy giggled, but the one called Frodo sounded a noise of protest. His voice was soft.

"She saw the Black Rider, too. She was hiding from it on the ground, didn't you see?"

"What's a Black Rider? Why did it feel so... evil?" She interrupted the other boy's reply huskily, trying not to choke at the water going up her nose. Sitting up, she groaned slightly at the rush of vertigo that swamped her, and cupped her head in her hands, willing the world to stop spinning. Long moments ticked by as the rain poured over them all, and the boys shuffled from foot to foot restlessly, clearly growing tired of standing around. At last, Gwen felt strong enough to move, and held out a hand, silently asking for a leg up.

Two of the boys helped her to her feet, and a third passed along her muddy blanket quietly. Mournfully, Gwen fingered the dirty, mud-caked stitches. _I'll never get it clean now._

Turning her attention back to the others around her, Gwen was again surprised at the oddities she noticed about them, particularly their lack of shoes. "What exactly are you doing out here in the rain? And aren't your feet cold without socks and shoes?" Granted, her own pair was pretty much useless at this point, but that was beside her point. It was her duty as the elder person here to look out for them. They were only children after all.

The four boys just looked at each other in confusion, clearly baffled by her questions.

The tallest boy (though by only a tiny bit) was a sandy-curled lad with a pert nose; he gave her an astonished look, gaping at her as if she had suggested they take off their clothing. When he spoke, his eyes moved back and forth expressively. "We don't wear shoes, don'tcha know? Who ever heard of a hobbit that wore shoes, outside of the occasional Brandybuck?" He nudged his companion with a smile, who shook his head. "Not me, that's for sure."

Gwen was at a loss. _And a hobbit is...?_

Her confusion was rather obvious, apparently. Another boy, more round and stout than the other three, gave her a kind look, saying gently, "Don't you sometimes see hobbits in Bree? I know some families that do business with the big folk sometimes." _The big folk?_ Gwen's head swam, and she tried to follow the boy's words. "We aren't much different than humans, you see. Just a little shorter is all."

The fourth, a round-nosed lad, added eagerly, "And we like to eat a lot! But yes, hobbits don't wear shoes, either."

 _I have no idea what a hobbit is._ She meant to say it out loud, but before she could form the words Gwen's head spun rapidly again, and she bent over with a groan. _I think the cold and wet has made me lose my mind._ "That seems a little strange to me," she breathed at last, trying not to heave. Her voice sounded far off and wispy, faint even to her ears. The tallest one gave her a concerned look.

"I don't suppose you've ever met an elf, then, have you? You've got a strange way of speaking, so maybe you aren't from these parts. _They_ are the strangest creatures in Middle Earth if you ask me!" _Hobbits...elves? Surely they've been in some accident or something and lost their marbles._

Or maybe she had.

In the seconds it took her ears to hear the words and her brain to process them, Gwen fainted dead away again, unable to contain the heavy, lead-weighted feeling in her head. This time, she didn't rise. The four hobbits started down at her in shock before sharing a look. They were confused and concerned, thinking that this peculiar human must have been particularly sheltered to have never heard of hobbits or to have fainted at the very idea of elves.

No one moved to help her immediately. "We can't just leave her here in the wet and muck," Frodo said with a sigh at last, bending to pick her up. The others followed his lead a moment later, and together they bore the burden of her weight between them. They continued on their journey to the town of Bree.

A moment later a voice broke the drumming sound of the rain pouring down. "What do you reckon it is she's wearing, Merry?"

* * *

Gwen woke for the second time that day in a strange place.

This time, however, she was in an old fashioned room with a glorious roaring fireplace, laying in a wood-carved bed with a feather-stuffed mattress. The faint smell of cedar and herb wafted around the small, cozy room, but where the sight of the room should have comforted her, she was only more confused than ever. _Have I stepped into a medieval festival or_ something? Nothing looked or felt right.

She'd clearly been bathed and changed, as she was both warm and dry, and not in her own clothing anymore. Gwen didn't want to think about whoever undressed her; she hoped it was a woman, at least. She wore a cream dressing gown with tiny needlepoint roses at the hems. It was light and soft and very beautiful, if old fashioned. It didn't distract her for long, though. _How did I get here?_ She struggled to remember. _Those...hobbits must have brought me here after I fainted. That was good of them to do._ She settled back down into the comfortable pillow once more.

She bolted up suddenly. _Oh_ _my God!_ The boy! He'd said 'Middle Earth,' before, not Earth! Where was that, exactly? Nowhere she'd ever heard of, certainly. It couldn't be real - any of it. But what could explain all of this medieval stuff in the middle of California? A role-playing convention or something? And the hobbits? And...elves? Oh yes, the little boys had definitely mentioned elves. _There's no such thing as elves, for Pete's sake. The boys just had active imaginations or were high on drugs or something._ It had to be a convention. Either way, she still had no idea where she was.

Gwen cupped her suddenly throbbing head in her hands with a low moan of distress. _Oh my god. What am I going to do? I've got to get home!_ Her stomach growled loudly then, seeking food, and was entirely careless of Gwen's other problems. Groaning softly, she rose from the bed to dress, noticing her pack and tent propped up thoughtfully by the doorway.

She rooted around for her clothing but couldn't find the garments anywhere, not even in her pack. Someone had been kind enough to wash her beloved throw, though, and it lay folded neatly inside her pack. She must have been asleep for a long while. Rooting around in her things, Gwen couldn't find her jeans and t-shirt. Instead of her own clothing, she found a pile of soft leather garments clearly tailored for a woman around her size. _So they want me to dress the part, too?_ Resigned to having to wear these things, Gwen picked up the first piece gingerly; it happened to be a pair of pants that were soft and finely tooled. _First a new setting, now new stuff – talk about roughing it._ Sighing to herself, she slipped her long, slim legs into the buttery leather breeches, and tied the cord at her hips to secure them. They fit her a bit snugly, but they weren't uncomfortable, nor did they limit her movement overmuch. It was as if they had been made to fit in that way.

The jerkin she'd been given was v-necked and fit her nearly like a corset, it was so snug. The sleeves fit closely to her skin, practically molding to her muscles and making her self-conscious. There was no bra to support her breasts however, so Gwen supposed it was just as well the top was tight. There was a pair of knee-high boots and a pair of worn leather gloves to go with the ensemble, as well as a scratchy wool cloak dyed mossy green. There was even a leather thong with which to tie her hair. She secured her thick dark tresses at the nape of her neck before grabbing her gear and exiting the room hastily.

She needed to find out what was going on. Fast.

The new clothing rustled as she trudged down the stairs into what appeared to be a nearly filled-to-capacity bar. _This must be a mock medieval tavern._ She looked around the room, noting the row of drunkards at the bar, and how some men kept to the shadows. Gwen was impressed with the level of detail the convention-goers had given the re-creation. There was even a very short guy wearing a very impressive looking beard that was so long even intricately braided it was tucked into the waistband of his breeches. He looked kind of like what she thought a dwarf might look like, being so short and stocky and tough looking. She looked twice and caught sight of a wicked-looking steel axe balanced against his table.

"Can ah get you a table, milady?" A serving girl with a thick brogue appeared at her shoulder, a smile gracing her plain features. She wore a plain dress of linen lined with dirty lace at the collar and wrists. "Ah..." Gwen shook her head, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar things she was seeing. "No, thank you." She was happy that her voice came out strong and clear rather than timid as she felt. _I can't believe this is real. It seems so impossible._ There was no phone to be seen, no electricity or modern appliances, no normal shoes or clothing, nothing at all to indicate that it was 2012 and not 1412. To be sure she wasn't dreaming, Gwen pinched her arm hard, and rubbed the pain away when it came. The images before her never wavered.

 _It's real...it's definitely real._

* * *

 _Review, please._


	3. Strider

**Disclaimer** : See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Two: Strider**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

For a long, very long, moment, Gwen stood frozen where she stood, barely noticing when patrons of the bar bumped into her. Suddenly her new clothes seemed to pinch at her skin, their snug fit instantly too tight and constricting. Disbelieving shock clawed its way up her throat as she took in her surroundings, scarcely able to comprehend all that her senses were telling her. The deep pit of dread within her bowels that had been her constant companion that day grew larger. Something was just not right about this place, and there was a space within her rational mind that offered up reasons for all of this that scared her.

Gwen would handle this turn of events just the same as she had so far - resolutely and logically. There was little need for panic when she had too little information. Still, she could not ignore the niggling that this was somehow _more_ than a simple role-playing convention.

"Hey! Over here!" A shout brought her out of her stunned reverie. The boys she had met on the road, and who likely had been kind enough to bring her here, were waving her over to where they sat at a squat, roughly hewn wooden table, cut from what seemed like solid oak. They sat among the raucous crowds of the tavern looking lost and as confused as she felt. It seemed they, too, were in need of a distraction, and she fit the bill for them as well as they did for her. Like her, they seemed to have dried out a bit from their meeting on the road, though her first impression of careworn weariness was not misplaced. The dark circles spoke of sleeplessness.

Though they looked ill at ease, the boys definitely seemed to fit this medieval setting far more than she. They wore cloaks similar to her's, in brown, and coarse cloth shirts and breeches that fell to mid calf. Their feet were still curiously bare, though now that they were dry Gwen could see that they were covered with thick dark hair over the tops, and their soles seemed very thick indeed. Making up her mind to sit with them, Gwen smiled shyly as one of the boys continued to wave her over to the table, embarrassed that she seemed to draw the eyes of many of the patrons at the bar.

Low whistles followed her to the table as she strode toward the only familiar faces in the place, only to be stopped short by the crowds of people around the bar who seemed to enjoy blocking her way. Grimacing at the disrespect many of the haggard and filthy men showed toward her by their leers and low comments about breasts, Gwen stalwartly ignored all others in favor of the boys. With a little wave, Gwen pushed her way through the loose throngs of bodies, praying no one would be bold enough to cop a feel of her ass as she went. Ladies dressed in sheer nighties that left nothing to the imagination, with their ample breasts spilling over the tops, took advantage of the more randy men loitering about, clearly doing their damnedest to earn a few bucks at the convention. No stranger to hookers and their ilk due to her mother's lifelong work with the poor, Gwen pointedly ignored these women.

It may have been overly judgmental on her part, but Gwen had always believed prostitution to be the lowest, and most easily circumvented, aspect of poverty. Still, it wasn't up to her what these women chose to do with themselves, and they did seem very successful at diverting the attention away from her. Dirty, scruffy-looking men with few teeth fondled them as they passed, and they didn't seem to mind. Gwen shuddered. _This definitely must be some kind of festival. There's no other explanation for this kind of thing going on in the middle of California._ There were definitely a few laws being broken, at any rate.

As she skirted the bar, she paused to wave down the barkeep to ask to use a phone. She really did need to let her parents know she was okay. Gwen was only a little surprised when the rotund man denied even knowing what a phone _was_. _Well, if they're role playing..._ Gwen quickly grew irate with the man. "But I really need to use the telephone! Can't you break whatever role it is you're playing for a minute?!" she cried exasperatedly. Her loud voice carried across the bar, making several men grunt and roll their eyes at her, glaring pointedly. The man at the bar wrinkled his brow, his rheumy eyes faintly confused.

"Milady, I have no idea what a telly-phone is or how to procure you one," he replied, as exasperated as she, seeing as Gwen was bothering him as he tried to refill about ten glasses of booze at one time. "Though please rest assured that if I could do so, I would." He had kind eyes, even as he was annoyed with her. Gwen tried another avenue. "Well, have you seen a girl about my age come through here, taller than me, with blonde hair and blue eyes?" The barkeep merely shook his head and continued his business.

Sighing, Gwen turned away from the bar sullenly. The boys were still watching her. Absently she drummed her fingers on the nearest wooden object, thinking. She still had found no sign of Jessie. Spying the chair open at the boys' table, she straightened from the bar.

She carefully made her way to the table, trying not to bump into anyone or bring undue attention to herself. The hobbits greeted her quietly, looking by turns curious and wary. Gwen pushed down the despair and worry she felt about Jessie and where she was to smile in appreciation at the hobbits. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said, ducking automatically when an empty pewter tankard flew wide overhead. "I am not used to strangers helping me in any way, really, and I suppose I was...a little distressed." _To say the least._ She had been through enough in her life to know that fainting was a rare occurrence for her. She motioned to the empty spot beside one boy. "May I sit?"

The stoutest hobbit nodded kindly at her, but she could tell he was unsure about her. Another, a smaller, more finely-boned child, was peering at her curiously. Gwen blushed and looked around the room, trying to gain some semblance of centered control over the chaotic bend her life had taken. She wasn't supposed to be sitting in some medieval tavern talking to hairy, bare-footed boys. Now that she was seated and feeling less threatened by the raucous patrons, she could see the place was warm and definitely upbeat, even if most of the people in the bar were filthy and drunk. It was clear that most had come inside only out of a need to dry their bodies from the rain, and for a drink.

A large hearth dominated one end of the large, open room, and currently housed a spitting, crackling fire. Gwen was strangely charmed by the numerous herbs that dried in the rafters above, and by the monstrous wool banner that ran the length of one wall. The man whom Gwen assumed was the innkeeper was himself a rotund man with a kind face, and he practically bustled around as he took food orders. The whole place would have had a home-y appeal had there not been whores and lusty men about.

She turned her attention back to the hobbits, noting their wildly curling hair and strangely older-looking features. They looked as exhausted as she felt. Remembering her manners, Gwen extended her hand to the closest boy. "My name is Gwendolyn, but you can call me Gwen." He smiled at her, hesitantly, and then looked at her hand, a question clear in his eyes. Ruefully, Gwen realized he didn't know what to do with it, and lowered it with a confused twist of her mouth. _Did they really not know how to shake someone's hand, or are they pretending just like everyone else?_

"I'm sorry," she began, "I was only trying to shake your hand." At the boy's confused twist of his eyebrows, Gwen explained further. "It's...uh, well, it's the way I was taught to introduce myself," she mused ruefully. The boy seemed to take pity on her as his understanding grew, and he smiled gently before extending his own hand.

"Hullo," the boy murmured shyly, darting a quick glance at his companions. They seemed reluctant to share their own names with her, and Gwen soon realized they had no intention of doing so. The silence among them that followed lengthened and grew to uncomfortable heights for Gwen, and she sought for some piece of conversation she could make. "So what are you boys doing out here all alone?" _That_ question really clammed them up, and all of them sat stonily in silence until one spoke up softly, "We are not _boys_ , we are hobbits." The solemn one who had first approached her on the road spoke up softly, rebuking her, and Gwen pinked in embarrassment. _Okay...not sure what that is, but I'll go with it._

"Right. Sorry. Hobbits. Might I ask your names?" It was uncomfortable, having to so completely carry the conversation, but she didn't know what else to do. Her world was spinning out of control at the moment, and these boys were a decent enough distraction from that. Though they were definitely reluctant to share information with her, after sharing a look they opened up with her a little. The tallest two "hobbits" turned out to be Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck, respectively. The heavier, stout hobbit was Samwise Gamgee, a soft-spoken, intelligent boy, if her estimation of him was correct. "You can call me Sam, milady," he requested quietly. Gwen smiled gently at him, immediately liking this hobbit and his quiet, unobtrusive manner.

"Just call me Gwen, Sam," she said, playing along with whatever role-playing they were insisting on. "Where I come from, only a few people have the privilege to be called milady." The last of the hobbits was a darkly-haired, doe-eyed character named Frodo Underhill. He looked, Gwen thought, _careworn_ , as if he carried a large burden on his young shoulders. She knew how it felt, and was sad for such a young boy to carry such a weight. He seemed to be the most reserved of the bunch, and only watched her carefully, with a wariness that shocked her. She was the last person who would have been interested in harming anyone.

"And are you from Bree, Gwen?" Frodo asked this quietly, forcing her to strain to hear him over the loud conversation in the room. Inside, she was thrilled to have one of them asked _her_ something. A tall, gray-clad man strode past their table at that moment, the _whoosh_ of his cloak brushing past them momentarily distracting her, and Gwen waited for him to pass before answering. "No. Uh, northern California, actually," she swallowed. The dark-haired boy shared a queer look with Sam, and she blinked in surprise at the way his ears were curved into a point at the tip instead of rounded.

"Cool ears, Frodo," she said, staring in wonderment at the lengths these people would go to for a convention. They didn't look fake, and a surgery like that had to have cost a fortune. She really needed to find out what exactly was going on, and these boys could possibly help her. "So, what is this place? Is it some kind of medieval festival or something?" Pippin passed her a friendly smile and nudged her as he rose from the bench. "I don' know what you mean, Gwen. Want a pint?" He lifted his tankard with a wide grin. It took her a moment to follow his transition from her question to wanting booze, but she shook her head, declining his offer. "No, thanks."

Apparently "hobbits" were big drinkers, because Pippin had been to the bar no less than three times since she'd arrived, and he showed little sign of stopping yet. Gwen watched him go time after time, shaking her head when the tavern-wench at the bar would hand him yet another. _I wonder what kinds of permits the festival people had to obtain to allow underage drinking_. But it really wasn't any of her concern - she needed to find Jessie and get home, though not necessarily in that order depending on where exactly she would find her friend. She tamped down her frustration at how her questions about this convention seemed to garner confusion from everyone she met.

"So – any idea how I can get back to west coast civilization?" Sam stared at her, clearly confused by her question. Unsurprising. He did attempt to answer her. "Well, Sam began, "There's the Shire and then the mountains beyond, I suppose, but beyond those? I'm not certain you'd be wanting what's there." Frodo's keen eyes met her own. "This place you said you came from – California? I have never heard of it," he intoned, almost glaring at her suspiciously. Gwen, taken aback by his demeanor, stared at him in disbelief. "Never heard of–" she paused, trying to follow her train of thought, but things were just getting weirder and weirder for her about all of this. she backtracked. "Just where do you guys come from exactly? Somewhere overseas?" Again, the hobbits shared confused looks, and her frustration mounted slightly. "Okay, hold it," she said, waving a hand to stop any further words. "Do you have a map I could borrow for a moment? I think it will be easier just to look it up for myself."

After a moment, Frodo produced a bit of rolled parchment-like paper, wrapped in oilcloth, and she was unsurprised to find it was made of lambskin. She was beginning to expect authenticity from these convention-goers. Gwen didn't fail to miss the suspicion in his eyes, and she tried not to take it personally. Merry, an intoxicated gleam in _his_ eyes, leaned forward across the table to gaze into hers. He had been listening to their conversation silently to this point. As she unrolled the faintly oiled map, he dropped a finger across the material, stopping her motions.

"It's curious to me, Gwen," He slurred slightly, taking another slurp of ale before burping unabashedly. "You seem mightily unfamiliar with this good land." His drunken gaze sharpened suddenly as they stared at one another, and she realized that Merry was much smarter than his silly behavior would imply. _He's right...I don't have a clue where I am. But why should that matter?_ Gwen wasn't altogether sure she was comfortable with anyone knowing how very lost and confused she was. Pippin arrived at that moment, smacking his friend's shoulder with a disapproving glare at his demeanor, but didn't protest vocally. It was clear that they all were curious about her and where she came from. _She_ just wanted to know how to get the effing hell back to California from where ever _here_ was.

Carefully she unrolled the map until it lay flat, and bent to study it. After a moment, shock filled her. There was no trace of California on the map, nor of the west coast, or even the United States at all. "It's not here," she murmured, eyes and fingers roving the heavy oilcloth, searching for some familiar words. As she tried to piece together all she knew of her circumstances, Gwen found herself overwhelmed. _First waking up in a new place. Then not having a clue about where Jessie is. Now nobody knowing anything about telephones or California? Where. Am. I?_ She didn't have a clue. The map said Middle Earth, and though she saw the town called Bree tattooed in ink upon the page, it would do no good at all unless she knew _where_ to go from here.

Helpless tears filled her eyes as the sheer weight of the entire day came crashing down upon her weary shoulders. Her wet gaze shot up to meet Frodo's, who was watching her closely, looking fairly alarmed at her rapidly changing demeanor. Her inner insistence that this was some kind of joke or even a real convention was crumbling away into a serious realization of impossibility. She couldn't deny what was right in front of her face, unless these boys were flat out lying to her. Desperate, she clung to the idea.

"You aren't kidding? This is where we are?" Merry nodded, solemnly silent as he read the growing distress in her face. He leaned over the map himself, pointing out things that shouldn't have existed at all. "Here is our home, there." He tapped a spot on the map labeled in script as the Shire. "Most of the hobbits of Middle Earth can be found there," he added quietly. Nothing on the map was familiar to her – not a thing. Forcing herself to breathe steadily through her nose, Gwen tried to _think_. _If this is really another place called Middle Earth, how did I get here? And where is Jessie?_ It stood to logical reasoning that if she was here somehow, in a random place like Bree, Jessie had to be in an equally random place as well. They had fallen asleep together, in nearby tents. She had to make it a priority to find her friend and get home.

Judging by the scaling, Middle Earth was a pretty large chunk of Earth. Or not Earth, and searching for Jessie could take a long time. Panic at realizing how many unknown factors there were in this reality of hers rose up , her tears fell onto the oiled sheet helplessly. Her brain seemed to have cycled back to the fact that California was completely and utterly missing from the map. _It should have been there!_ "It's not here!" A breathy sob escaped, but Gwen fiercely reigned in her mushrooming emotions, determined to work this out for herself. She met Merry's suddenly sober gaze, then Pippin and Sams' before carefully rolling the map back up. Her fingers trembled as she passed it back to a compassionate-looking Frodo, who seemed to have lost his momentarily guarded demeanor in the face of her distress.

Gwen breathed deeply, and then exhaled.

"If that map is truly correct and not a joke, then you're right, Merry, I _am_ unfamiliar with this land." Shock poured over her, and thankfully numbed her emotions for the moment. "And I've got no idea how to get home." _Where is Jessie, then, if I'm here?!_ So many questions were left, remaining, waiting to be answered. "I...went to bed in a place I recognized and woke up a short ways from where we met on the road." She took another deep breath, trying not to fall into freak-out mode again. "I don't know how I got here, only that I am now." She met each hobbits eyes, willing them desperately to believe her utterly crazy-sounding tale. Rationally, if her situation seemed insane to her, it must seem equally insane to these _hobbits_ of Middle Earth. _Dear God..._ Realization slammed into her as she began to believe the boys' claim that they were not human at all. _This world is nothing like mine._

Gwen eyed Frodo's ears once again, this time seeing them for what they were... actual, womb-grown ears of another frigging species. The hobbits, in turn, watched her with concern and confusion. Sam, bless his soul, asked, "You mean you've never been to Middle-Earth? _Ever_?" He was clearly shocked at the possibility as much as she was that she would be here. Gwen shook her head gloomily, still staring at Frodo. She knew she was being rude, but under the circumstances it was understandable.

"No...never." She hated the quivering note in her words, but again, it was a rational physical response to the insanity she was living. Was it really possible that she had somehow found a way into an entirely different world? Her cool, logical festival argument seemed to have quickly spiraled out of control – and had morphed into that horrifying impossibility. _But how?!_

 _It's going to be okay, Gwendolyn._ She just had to keep telling herself that. She would get home...somehow. Horrified, Gwen looked around the noisy tavern, realizing she was stuck here until she found out a way to do so. _Hobbits. Friggin' medieval era stuff._ Completely overwhelmed, Gwen laid her head on the scarred table and concentrated on breathing. "So I guess you really _are_ hobbits, then...?" The question was muffled by her arms and completely dejected. Frodo, having stayed quiet until now, murmured gently, "Yes. What did you think we were?"

She had thought they were boys, obviously, but she didn't answer. After a moment, she sat up again, looking utterly miserable. Pippin patted her back sympathetically, and Sam asked quietly, "What are you going to do now?" The barkeep came around to ask about food, interrupting her reply, and to pass around another batch of ale. Gwen, grateful beyond words for the distraction, immediately ordered a large bowl of thick mutton stew and a loaf of fresh bread. _Right now,_ she thought, _I'm going to eat_. A flagon of cider came with it, and soon she was tucking into her meal as heartily as Pippin and Merry were enjoying their booze.

Dipping a piece of bread into the thick, hearty stew, Gwen thought about Sam's question. What _would_ she do now? She didn't have a clue how she got here, and therefore didn't have a clue as to how to get back. She was stuck in a sort of fantasy parallel world where hobbits and elves existed and everything she knew and loved did not – modern conveniences included. It was daunting...no, terrifying to think about.

 _I have to find Jessie._ There was a good chance she was in this place somewhere, too. Gwen clung to the thought with all she had. Her first priority would be to find her friend somehow. The table grew silent even as the rest of the tavern became louder and more bawdy with each drink. The night lengthened as she brooded over her circumstances, and the five of them fell into a companionable dance of silences interspersed with short snippets of conversation. All the while, Gwen worked to steady herself mentally, knowing she had to come up with some kind of game plan if she wanted to A) Find her friend and B) Get home.

Pippin and Merry continued to drink even after she was finished eating. Their alcoholic tolerance was utterly amazing, but she surmised it was a hobbit thing. When Merry plopped down an even more monstrous sloshing tankard of ale inches from her hands on table, Pippin's eyes grew comically wide and astonished at the sight. "What is _that_?" he gasped in outrage. Merry looked positively delighted with his new find, and squeezed into his seat between Pippin and Gwen. He licked his lips before taking a sip of the golden brew.

"This, my friend, is a pint!" He popped the 'p' in emphasis of the term, burping heartily after a moment's pause. Gwen winced and turned away. _Gross._

Had she not been so morose and overwhelmed at her impossible situation, Gwen might have laughed at their constant by-play. It was clear these hobbits were particularly close, and seemed to treat one another as Gwen expected siblings might. As an only child herself, she had no firsthand experience with siblings, but Jessie had always indicated that having siblings meant having a lot of arguments and a lot of fun.

She hardly paid any mind at all to Pippin as he jumped up from the table, nearly toppling over Gwen's half-eaten bowl of stew in the process. "I'm gettin' one!"

A short while later, she placed the carved spoon into the empty bowl with a sigh of near-satisfaction, much less panicked now that her stomach was filled. She'd forgotten how content food could make a body. With a sigh, she rubbed her belly and stretched as Pippin returned with his own large pint. Butterbur, the tavern-keeper, removed her things quickly, allowing her to lean over the table once more to engage Sam in further conversation.

"To answer your question from earlier, Sam – I don't know what I'll do now. It's hard to find your way home if you don't know how you left it to begin with," she sighed. Frodo studied her, his big blue eyes boring holes in her head, as if measuring her. "I've got to find my friend, Jessie, though I don't know for sure if she's here with me or not." Gwen scoffed at herself, remembering bitterly how worn out she had been just getting to the road. _How can I find Jessie in this huge world alone?_

"I barely got to Bree on my own. How am I going to go looking for her by myself?" The question was rhetorical and asked mostly of herself, and Gwen really didn't expect an answer. Pippin nodded in understanding as he guzzled his pint, his eyes growing every more bright with drunken energy, though the movement was as earnest as a childls. The hobbits contemplated her situation a moment. Pippin's eyes lit up at some internal thought, and he had her attention immediately.

"You could come with us! We're- oof." Merry elbowed him in warning, immediately cutting off his words. The hobbits looked at one another, tense and silent, leaving Gwen to sit confused and feeling awkward as to what had just transpired. _I wonder what they're doing here._ Obviously, they didn't want her to know. She tore off a piece of soft bread from the loaf Sam had just received and chewed it slowly, considering a polite response to the awkwardly cut-off offer. "I appreciate the offer, Pippin, but I wouldn't want to hold you or anyone else back." Her soft words must have been the correct response, because the tension dispelled almost immediately.

Frodo especially seemed grateful she hadn't accepted the half-invitation. She smiled to show she wasn't offended. Trying to turn her mind away from the need to find Jesse, Gwen spread her hands open invitingly. "So, tell me a little more about yourselves, about hobbits. You're the first I've ever seen." _Isn't that the truth of it? Hah._

Frodo jerked a little bit, obviously distracted and twitchy. He kept looking over his shoulder warily, and Gwen only just noticed the more quiet, concealed end of the tavern. There were many people hidden by the shadows of the alcoves, and Gwen wondered what was making him so nervous. Sam glanced at him sidelong, as if asking for permission to speak. Frodo smiled at him gently before answering himself, "There's not much difference between hobbits and humans, by my reckoning," he began. "Hobbits are known for their love of drink, as you've seen, and food, as well as pipeweed." At her confused stare, Frodo elaborated. "I've seen the Big Folk smoke tobacco in a similar way. Are you familiar with that leaf?" Gwen nodded, her understanding at once clearer.

Frodo sighed a little, smiling a half smile that seemed rueful. "Other than that we are just a peaceful folk who love the Shire and its offerings." Sam nodded, adding, "I'd never leave Hobbiton if I didn't have to, right Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo nodded absently, again seeming to retreat into his mind and thoughts, unconsciously placing his hand to his chest. Any enjoyment that could have been seen in his face was now gone, replaced with an odd mix of pain and need. He looked past them, at Pippin, who had gone to retrieve yet another pint of ale from the bar. The more easy-going hobbit was chatting animatedly with some scruffy-looking customers nearby. Frodo tried hard to conceal the worry written plainly across his brow, but Gwen read it as easily as she did Sam's nervousness. Merry, too, looked concerned. Some odd tension lay growing in the air, though Gwen couldn't place it's origin. _What is going on?_ Gwen couldn't figure out what the hobbits were so worried about. Merry smiled at her, though his eyes remained on Frodo, and he was obviously distracted, too.

"Pippin and Frodo and I are all related, and Sam here was Frodo's gardener before we set out on our adventure to Bree," he informed her, glancing quickly at her out of the corner of his eye with a smile. "Hobbits rarely venture outside the Shire..." he trailed off quickly and Gwen jerked in shock as Frodo jumped up from the table quite suddenly. At the bar, Pippin was talking loudly about knowing a Baggins. Gwen watched, confused, and a little concerned, as Frodo and Pippin collided and caused a loud ruckus at the bar. _What in the world?_

Frodo lost his balance in his struggle with his cousin and tipped backwards. _Oh that's going to hurt._ She winced in sympathetic pain as he went down hard and lost something in his hand, a ring, it looked like. The object slipped onto one of his fingers, and, to her shock, Frodo disappeared altogether as if he'd never been there, sending a wave of something evil washing over her at the same moment. _Holy Christ, now I'm seeing disappearing hobbits!_

She jumped up from her spot at the sight, crying out in shock and pain and every nerve ending in her body came alive in reaction to whatever was causing that radiating malice. A scant heartbeat later, a fiendish shriek sent the entire tavern into fits of fear. The scantily dressed tavern girls shrieked. Gwen shuddered, while Sam and Merry leaped up with hoarse shouts, and began searching frantically for their kinsman. _Something definitely isn't right here – that rider is back!_ The entire bar was in an uproar over what people thought they did or didn't see, and from the sounds of the "Black Rider." Gwen had heard one patron cry out this term for the rider, and she thought it fit very well. Chaos reigned, and Sam, Merry and Pippin had not been able to find Frodo yet.

Wisely, Gwen had chosen to stay seated through all this ruckus, and was able to see through the crowd a hard-eyed man haul a reconstituted Frodo up the stairs and away from the bar. He looked as pale as death, and twice as horrified as she felt by everything happening. Immediately Gwen leaped to her feet. Even if Frodo was merely an acquaintance, and one who didn't trust her at all, she couldn't allow him to be harmed if she could help it. It simply ran against who she was.

"Merry! Sam! Frodo's this way." She pointed up the stairs, pushing past panicky bar patrons. "Someone has him upstairs." _What does this guy want with Frodo?_ Gwen suspected something bigger was going on in this tavern than what she had witnessed. Hastily, the other hobbits grabbed anything they could find as a weapon to defend their friend. A chair. A candlestick. Whatever could be found and could be carried, and she grabbed a fire poker. "Why would anyone attack Frodo?" she asked as they sneaked up the stairs. It came out a hiss, and the others just shot her worried glances without answering. They crept up the stairs as quietly as possible, not wanting the man to be alert to their presence.

"I didn't mean to make Frodo do it." Pippin's mournful voice whispered. _Do it? Does he mean disappear?_ "Does Frodo have some kind of magical power or something?" She never thought she'd ever have to utter those words in all seriousness, but this was clearly, distinctly, no longer Earth. Sam shot Pippin a dirty look and shook his head silently at her; Gwen was surprised such a gentle hobbit could look so angry, and almost felt bad for the thin hobbit. They ignored her entirely.

"Great good that does him now, does it?" Sam whispered at Pippin furiously. "When will you learn to keep your great bloody mouth shut, Peregrin Took?" Pippin, chastised and shamed, clutched his makeshift weapon with a swallow. Gwen put a finger to her lips when she heard Frodo's frightened voice filter through one of the doors. Pointing at the door in question, she mouthed, 'He's in there.' They crept up to the entryway, Gwen's hand on the doorknob. Silently, she counted down from three with her fingers. On zero, they burst through the door, startling Frodo and his captor, who drew a long steel sword more quickly than Gwen anticipated.

"Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam cried, brandishing his fists at the tall human man who held Frodo. Though the man had unsheathed a sword quicker than she could blink, he didn't look evil or malicious to Gwen, only dirty, careworn, and tired. He seemed determined, yet did not seem like the type to hurt an innocent person. "Give us our friend, _now._ " Gwen used her best serious voice, one she previously reserved for the most stubborn of people. The poker was heavy in her hand, and she had to force herself to hold it up threateningly. Tension coiled in her belly. The term _friend_ was pushing their acquaintance rather far, but Gwen was serious in her defense of the hobbit.

Instead of striking out at them as she expected, the man studied them curiously, seeming to size them up a little, before smoothly sheathing his sword. He took in the four of them standing there, ready to defend Frodo with their lives. _Use the element of surprise Gwen!_ Suddenly, she rushed forward, kicking the man in the shins ineffectually, but shocking them all. "Run, Frodo!" The dark man was much faster and stronger than he looked, though, and he caught Gwen up and prevented her from struggling or hurting him at all. "I have not hurt him," he murmured, "and I won't." The man's breath was warm on her ear. It made a tingle shoot down her belly, but she only growled as she struggled.

"He is not our enemy, Gwen. Though it pleases me that you would rush to my defense so readily." Frodo's softly spoken words ceased her struggles, leaving her feeling embarrassed for her hasty actions. It seemed she had at least won a few points with Frodo. So much turmoil and confusion in one day had Gwen's temper boiling over. She burst from the man's relaxed arms, whirling around in a fury. "Why in the _hell_ would you kidnap an innocent boy...sorry, hobbit," she allowed, glancing at Sam and the others for a moment, "Scaring the daylights out of his friends in the process, if you didn't mean him harm?"

The man arched a brow, hands out in a universal gesture of peace, eyes surprised and amused as he released her to stare down at her from his greater height. His reply was cut off by the four hobbits laughing softly at her. _What the-_

Sam gave her a kind look, for a moment forgetting his anger at the human man. "Mr. Frodo is far from a boy, milady Gwen," he explained. "He is fast approaching middle age at 50!" Gwen, stunned at the revelation, took in Frodo's youthful appearance once more, and her anger simmered down. "Well he sure doesn't look it," she replied indignantly. "How was I to know that hobbits age more slowly than humans, hmm? You four all look scarcely older than I do, and I won't be eighteen for three months!"

The strange man had been ignoring their conversation for a few moments, and was now peering out the window into the night, growing more tense by the moment. Finally, he turned back to the five of them with a solemn look. "You have no choice but to trust me," he declared seriously. His timing was perfect by Gwen's reckoning, for right after his proclamation, another inhuman shriek rent the night in two; the helpless fear Gwen felt at the sound was inexplicable.

Frodo was fearful as well, she noticed. "What is that – thing, that rider – making those terrible sounds?" She had to know what had caused such terrible panic in her about the riders. The man didn't look at her, but at Frodo instead, and Pippin looked at her nervously. After a long moment of silence, the mysterious man ground out an answer. "The enemy."

"One a group of hobbits and a girl have little hope of defeating." Grim silence followed his words, and when another terrible cry split the night, Gwen instinctively knew this man spoke the truth. _Well, this is certainly turning into a positively delightful day._ Frodo's voice intruded on her thoughts. "What do we do now?"

Keen, dark eyes met Gwen's before sliding away.

"You're not going to do anything alone. _We_ ," he said archly, motioning to the hobbits and himself, "are going to run."

Clearly, he didn't mean her, either.

* * *

 _Please review._


	4. Choices

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Three: Choices**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Gwen paced her room, her thoughts running together so quickly she couldn't make heads or tails of anything she was thinking about in that moment.

 _You have to make a choice, Gwen, and fast. Strider and the others will be leaving before morning._ She fingered the edge of the finely-wrought dagger Strider had given her "for protection" before they left the town. It was a gleaming silver blade, coupled with a contoured grip that fit very well in her hand. It was deadly sharp. Ironically, Gwen was twice as likely to cut herself with it as she was to actually hurt someone else, but there was no convincing the forceful man of the North of that. He had simply shoved it into her hands, given her a hard look, and went on his way, sternly telling her to forget all about them. As if that were possible!

it was as if her mind had zeroed in on the hobbits and their new guardian, and was unable to stray from it. Logically Gwen recognized that she was using this current situation to divert her attention away from the giant chasm of hell that had become her reality in the last twenty-four hours. It was an understandable protective mechanism, and one she didn't really care to fight.

She studied the ornate weapon warily from where it sat gleaming in her hand, wondering where such a blade might have been made, and how. She had always enjoyed keenly learning how things were made, and the countless medieval objects she was encountering were no different. Gently she ran a thumb along the whisper thin edge, jerking away sharply with a hiss when it nicked her skin. It was _wicked_ sharp, actually, and the cut brought to mind memories best left alone. The last time she had seen a knife like this, its' wielder had been trying to kill her. The wound reminded her how easily she could be harmed. _I have no business wandering about a place called Middle Earth following a bunch of hobbits and a human. A Ranger. A Dúnedain. Whatever he is._ She really didn't. Her ability to survive in an unforgiving world such as Middle Earth was questionable at best, even following others who did know how harsh the terrain and landscape could be.

She had turned over her options so many times now. _I need to go home. I need to find Jessie._ Her parents were surely frantic with worry by now. A pang of homesickness and dread hit her hard at the thought of them alone, wondering where she was. That was the hardest part of being in this surreal world, besides being worried for Jessie - knowing that her parents were surely heartbroken by her absence. It was a difficult thought. Gwen sank to the feather-stuffed bed, tossing the dagger to the floor in the process, heedless of the blade. _Oh, God. I want to go home._

Hopelessness swamped her, buffeting her already thin, control of her emotions into fragility. Fat, hot tears fell and wet the pillow beneath her face. For the first time since arriving here, Gwen allowed herself that single moment of weakness.

 _Mom and Dad would hate to see me this way._ She wept bitter tears at the thought. _They wouldn't want me to sit around crying over something I can't change. The'y'd want me to find a way back to them._ After a few minutes of helpless emotion, her tears slowed, and then stopped. Without a shadow of doubt, Gwen knew the path to her decision was clear. _I can't exactly sit around safe and sound within a hole-in-the-wall tavern in a town called Bree waiting to fall asleep and wake up back in California, if that's even possible._ Gwen had no money to rent a room within said tavern, at any rate, and precious few skills that would be considered strong enough to earn a wage in a place like this.

Sighing, she sat back up quickly, drying the wet trails on her face, wrenching the leather thong that held back her hair away from her scalp with a hint of temper, taking a few strands of dark, curly hair with it. Despite knowing she had little choice in leaving Bree, Gwen couldn't help but feel doubts. _I can't exactly go traipsing off into God-knows-where followed by a bunch of evil, soul-sucking wraiths._ The mere idea of it sent chills into her torso. Even if the others allowed her to come with them, it would be very dangerous.

The problem was, neither the hobbits nor Strider intended to allow her to travel _with_ them, even for a little while, and they wouldn't tell her why. It was all very hush-hush, and Gwen couldn't get anything out of them to save her own life – literally. _If I don't follow them, where will go I go? What will I do?_ Decisions, decisions. _Which is the lesser of two evils? Out in the streets or out on the road?_

It wasn't in her nature to be indecisive, but the past few hours had drained Gwen mentally, and she had been able to do little more than mull over her options and replay Strider's words in her head. She hadn't been able to get much out of the man, especially once he had realized she was plainly listening to his words, but what she had learned was more than she ever needed to know, and none of it was good; put plainly, Middle Earth and all the races of its' lands were in the first throes of a war. A bloody war, if the history Strider had mentioned was to be believed. An ancient, evil magic guy - _Maiar_ , _Strider had called him_ \- named Sauron had once nearly taken over Middle Earth a couple thousand years ago, decimating entire populations of various races in his quest to rule the continent.

Now, Sauron had seemingly reappeared again in a land to the east called Mordor and set up shop, building armies and sending out his minions to cause trouble across the lands. How that was possible, Gwen didn't know, but anything that refused to die, frankly, scared the shit out of her. And that was where the black-rider-evil-wraith-things came in. They were apparently Sauron's undead minions, having used to be great Kings or something. The ranger had been sympathetic to her fear of them, but he, and the hobbits, seemed too preoccupied with their own business to worry about her overmuch – not that she could blame them. She was, after all, virtually a stranger to them. Still, it didn't comfort her to know she wouldn't have anyone to watch her back if she did venture out of the town limits.

The hobbits were obviously in a dangerous spot of some sort – after all, they had chosen to trust the ranger even when he had not given them a reason that _she_ knew of. Strider was insisting that they leave for Imladris, the home of some great elf, immediately, and leave Bree behind altogether. Strider mentioned this right before he remembered her presence in the room and shoved the dagger she held currently in her face, telling her in no uncertain terms to go and leave them be. It was clear she would not be a part of whatever plan he had for the hobbits. As shaken as she had been, the ranger's plans to leave Bree sounded fairly promising for her. Logically, if the elves had the power to defend against the terrifying wraiths, they might have the power to help her find Jessie, and maybe even get her out of Middle Earth.

 _It would be a dangerous road, though, what with Sauron's undead minions roaming about._

She certainly wasn't going to figure out a way home in Bree, though, where the most intelligent and understanding individuals couldn't begin to imagine her situation. _Sbe_ barely understood her situation! It was impossible to know more than she did without some outside guidance. There had been no sign of Jessie that Gwen could see, as she hadn't passed through the most logical place a hungry, tired person might go - the inn. Gwen herself had no money or influence with which to proffer help or rent a room to stay here for longer, (she highly suspected that Frodo and the other hobbits had paid for her room thus far, as the bartender hadn't asked her about paying for it herself) so she would be out on the streets soon anyway. At least if she followed the hobbits she would _have a chance_ of surviving in the wild.

And, despite her knowledge of their age and capabilities, as well as her fear of the dangers she could face as a result of traveling in the wild in this unknown land, Gwen couldn't help but feel slightly protective of her new hobbit friends. They looked so much like children it was easy to feel the urge to mother them. Sighing, Gwen stared down at the dagger laying innocently on the wooden floor. It was all but decided, then. She would follow them to this place of the elves, and find out what she could about finding Jessie and going home.

The next step from there would come then, if she had to make it. _Let's just hope the elves know a way to get me back to California, and that I see Jessie or some sign of her along the way_. It was really the only acceptable option. She would follow the hobbits, to Imladris – and hope to God Strider didn't catch her in the process. Her mind growing somewhat more settled now that she'd come to a decision, Gwen quickly gathered her few meager belongings which by now was only her aged leather backpack, her blanket, and a half crumpled cheap plastic water bottle, sweeping from the room. She had no time to waste. Barliman Butterbur, the tavern-keeper and owner of the inn, stopped her hastily at the door.

"You'll not be wanting to go out of doors tonight, little lady." His eyes roved about nervously, and sweat rolled from one round cheek down his neck. "There are dark things about." Bushy eyebrows emphasized his point expressively, and she swallowed hard at how genuinely frightened he seemed, but Gwen was resolute and wouldn't be swayed. If she waited for daylight, the ranger would be long gone, and with him her chances of ever understanding how she had come to be in Middle Earth. She flashed the rotund man a kind, steel-lined smile, but inside hoped he couldn't see her own nervousness.

"I don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid." Swallowing, Gwen gave the kindly-featured man a tentative smile, which the big man returned hesitantly. Business had slowed to a trickle in the tavern, she noticed. Even the flirtatious bar maids seemed to be absent, and the lack of immediate work to do seemed to have allowed Mr. Butterbur the luxury of talking to her about something _other_ than food, drink, or directions. The massively rotund barkeeper was enthusiastically rubbing down the cherry-stained wood of the long bar with a clean rag that was stained permanently a yellowish color from God-knew-what, and the motion made his bushy sideburns wiggle and move in the most fascinating way. After a moment, red and puffy-cheeked, he returned his attention to Gwen.

"Little lady," he began in a stern, no-nonsense voice she thought wasn't nearly as effective as he surely did, "You entered this establishment without proper clothing, food, or yer own wits, don' think I didn't notice." He poked a finger at her over the bar, rag in hand. "Yer in little proper position to go out hereabouts alone, especially on a night like tonight!" Wheezing a little, he leaned over the bar as if to emphasize his point. Gwen flushed, a little embarrassed by what the man had observed of her. Still, she had no intentions of being kept from leaving. Who knew if she would ever have the opportunity to follow another person to the elves!

Nodding, she said, "I realize that, sir. But I must go." Meeting the barkeep's serious gaze, Gwen moved around the tall bar, heading for the door. Stopping one last time, Gwen turned. "Thank you for everything - the room and the food," she murmured appreciatively. Barliman Butterbur sighed, knowing he couldn't let the strange girl-child leave unprepared for a journey altogether. Something told him that she had little idea how harsh the lands of Middle Earth could be. A warrior or hunter she was not, even to his untrained eyes it was clear to see.

"Miss. Wait." He moved as quickly as he was able with his unusually large gut in the way. The girl stopped, and he didn't miss the exasperated look on her face. She didn't appreciate his interference now, but she would have two or three nights without a hot meal in her belly, he knew. "At least take some rations for the road?" What compelled him to aid her, he didn't know rightly, only that he felt she could use the rare kindness. And it didn't sit right with him, knowing she'd starve out on the East Road alone without aid.

Checking first to ensure his patrons were all happy for the moment, Barliman waved her back into the Pony's storeroom, where he handed her a number of items that would survive the journey: aged cheeses, day-old bread, a bit of salted pork and venison, and even a little pouch of dried melon, which was counted among one of his favorite snacks. Barliman was happy to see that she now seemed _much_ more appreciative of his time and effort, and with a spot of heat rising in his cheeks, he realized she seemed speechless by his actions. Never mind that it would take him a good few hours to remake what coin she had taken in foodstuffs, the look of gratitude and humble appreciation in her eyes was enough.

 _The world had precious little kindnesses to be found in it as it was._

For her part, Gwen _was_ struck dumb by the stranger's generosity. As if he knew she couldn't pay, the tavern keeper didn't ask for gold for the goods he had shoved into her bag. He just ushered her back into the main room and returned to his bar without a look back. With one last quietly thank-you and a silent farewell, Gwen exited into the streets, and was almost immediately overwhelmed by the revolting stench of horseflesh, shit, and ammonia. It was obviously that plumbing and hygienic bathroom facilities had not yet been widely implemented in Bree, as Gwen was almost positive she saw a half-drunken slob with his penis out a few feet from the door of the inn, which she was charmed to see was named the Prancing Pony. Revolted at the sight, she quickly turned away to begin her journey.

The cobblestone street was nearly empty, and she saw no sign of Strider or any of the hobbits, even as she came to the outskirts of town. Gwen began to worry that she might have missed them entirely by following Mr. Butterbur. Hefting the considerably more heavy rucksack a little to adjust the weight along her shoulders, Gwen sighed, sniffing when her nose began to run a bit from the cold air she was breathing in. _Well at least it's not raining._

She'd have to do her best to catch up to the hobbits. Gwen hoped that their shorter legs might slow their pace a little more, and started quickly out of town in the same direction she'd been going before – east. She had only seen the map Frodo carried briefly, but Gwen, who's memory was nearly eidetic, recalled the long road running through Bree and curving south and east towards a long ridge of mountains. It was the main road that ran through much of this part of Middle Earth, if her memory was to be believed. While she had her doubts, it was the best thing she had to go on right now.

Hoping for any sign of the others, she moved cautiously and as quickly as she was able, knowing her chances of them still being inside the town limits was slim at best. Strider would push them hard, she felt. His nature seemed very intense and focused, and Gwen supposed his actions would mimic that nature very clearly. She would just have to be more focused. The new day's sun would not show for many hours yet, making it difficult to see, much more so than she had anticipated. The sky had barely begun to lighten ahead of her. More than once, Gwen bumped into a barrel or tripped over an uneven cobblestone in the road, but resolutely she kept going, passing by a rickety stable, where a few horses were quietly speaking to one another in gentle nickering sounds. _Maybe I should get a horse?_ Gwen quickly dismissed the idea, as it would amount to stealing – and she would feel terrible about it later.

Just as she reached the outer, stronger palisade protecting the town, a shadow that moved more quickly than she could hope to pulled her back roughly, jerking her to a stop with a shove. Immediately, a strong hand clasped to her mouth, to stifle any cry of alarm she made. "What are you _doing_ , woman?" the figure hissed, dragging her away from the town gates, nearly pulling her from her feet altogether. "I told you not to follow us," the person continued after a pregnant, fear-filled pause. A heartbeat passed, and Gwen's mind caught up to what her relaxing body had already told her. It was Strider. Relief replaced fear. She _hadn't_ been too late after all.

Defiantly, she wrenched her arm from his grasp, almost smiling when the four hobbits materialized out of the darkness behind Strider, looking none too happy to see her. _Well at least they haven't left Bree yet. One less thing to worry about..._

"Who said I was?" She said indignantly. Never mind that she _had_ been...she couldn't let them know that! The ranger crossed his arms over a broad chest and stared down at her, anger bleeding out of every pore, clearly not believing her indignant words. Gwen knew she was caught, so she tried a different tactic. Gwen mirrored Strider's own pose defiantly. "There is no law that says I can't. You can't stop me." She hoped there wasn't, anyway; she didn't _really_ know. Strider cocked an eyebrow at her. Something about his eyes told Gwen he wasn't amused with her, nor truly annoyed. It was as if he had expected her to try exactly what she had. Still, he regarded her with a mix of open distrust and curiosity. The hobbits stood to the side, paying close attention to their words.

"Why shouldn't I tie you up and leave you for Butterbur, girl?" He declared. "I've already told you to leave us be."

She shrugged, meeting his flashing eyes with feigned bravado, but she couldn't think of any good reason for Strider _NOT_ to do such a thing. All she had to fall back on was her own stubborn need to find Jessie and go home. A moment later, she grew distracted by the sight of her tent strapped securely across Strider's back. Indignantly, Gwen forgot his question as outrage beckoned.

"Hey! That's my tent, you thief!" Strider's pupils dilated, the only sign that she had startled him with her realization. He had the grace to look vaguely shamed, but he didn't apologize. He simply waited for her to explain herself as he originally asked, and Gwen resisted the urge to pout like a little girl. _What's so damn bad about me going with them anyway? It's not like I'm going to kill them in their sleep or_ _something._ The mature side she had within her insisted that their behavior was only logical.

Gwen sighed, meeting Strider's hard stare directly. "Look, I just want to get home." She knew the hobbits had explained her situation - what they knew of it - to Strider already. He had been concerned himself by her circumstances, but clearly unmoved past the point of sympathy. Even now, his stoic features remained a blank page, and he was clearly unmoved by her need. Strider and the hobbits watched her like a hawk, and the ranger never released her arm from his grip, as if he feared she would do something unpleasant. Gwen's own stubborn nature kicked in, and she tried again to make the man of the north understand.

"I know you said you have no idea how I can go home," she began heavily. "But maybe one of those elves you were talking about before could help me." She lifted her eyes to his, unaware that they were pleading with him as much as her words were. It looked as if she was prepared to kneel before him in supplication within the next few moments. Gwen's expressive eyes followed his when they broke away from her face to glance down. Was he softening? "

Please, just take me with you and after we get there, I swear you'll never see me again," she begged.

He stared at her for the longest time, aware of the growing sun glowing in her hair, until finally he released her with a deep sigh, capitulating. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered to himself. This mission was fraught with enough danger and unknown factors as it was. Watching this unknown and unusual girl would require him to be even more focused than without her. But at least if she was with them, he wouldn't have to wonder about her. She would be right under his nose and eyes. Frodo jerked noticeably, clearly not expecting his acquiescence. His movement drew both Gwen and Strider's eyes. To Gwen's shock, he was staring at her, utterly terrified. It was as if they were not even acquaintances. His eyes glimmered in the growing morning light, Strider that losing the cover of darkness could be even more dangerous for the stout hobbit.

"Strider, you can't be serious!" he exclaimed, stunned. When he saw that Strider, was, indeed serious, he shot her another look of fear tinged with worry and anger before shaking his head and turning away from them, striding away and through the gates of Bree. Gwen stared at his slowly retreating form, incredulous and slightly wounded by his reception. _What, does he think I am some kind of thief or killer or something? Sheesh!_ Gwen's interest primarily lay with getting home, and she didn't care what she had to do to get there. Frodo and his friends were simply a means to an end, even if their child-like stature tweaked some instinct inside her, and the undead minions on the road scared the crap out of her.

Strider, uncomfortable with Frodo's reaction to his decision, regained Gwen's attention with a stern shake. "Come on, then, girl," he growled lowly, almost quietly. "But I'm watching you, and I think you know by now I'll kill you before I let you hurt anyone here." Before she could reply – his words had shocked her to stunned silence – he turned abruptly and followed a fast-moving Frodo. Gwen couldn't believe he believed her capable of harming someone like Frodo! _What kind of world is this?!_

Sam didn't seemed to give her much attention at all, and was hot on the Ranger's heels, but Merry and Pippin dallied behind a moment, staying with her, and she could see they felt out of sorts over their kinsman's behavior. Gwen shuttered her emotions as best she could, knowing that there was nothing she could do to change Strider and Frodo's minds about her yet. Still, it hurt her feelings, and she knew that they had seen a small glimmer of them in her eyes. "These are dark times, Lady Gwen," Merry whispered gently, by way of an apology. "Dark times." He acknowledged her solemnly before turning and following the others through the gates.

 _Dark times indeed, thinking a girl like me could hurt a guy like Frodo_ , she mused.

* * *

Strider led them past the outskirts of town, his eyes watchful and his movements careful. They stopped several times, and Strider seemed to be listening for something. Gwen surmised it might be the undead things - the riders - that made him so cautious. As long as it took, she definitely did not want to meet up with one of them anytime soon. They all moved in a loose diamond, of which Sam took the rear with his pony, while Pippin and Merry walked on either side of her. Frodo walked quietly just in front of her. They were all as quiet as church mice, obviously wary of any lurkers or people who might be following them. Anyone, Strider had warned whilst giving her a suspicious look, could be a spy for Sauron. Gwen scowled but said nothing at the barb.

So they stole carefully out of Bree, and there was a palpable sense of relief when the town disappeared from view behind them. The journey had officially begun. Gwen, at least, was happy to leave Bree for good; felt there was a lesser chance of Strider leaving her in the wild than in town. Grateful beyond words for his unwilling aid, she walked without complaint, even when each step became painful and difficult. It was cold - very cold - and the ground was slippery and full of mud from the previous days' rain.

They walked until the sun rose altogether, and for a few hours afterward. Strider avoided the road, calling the path too dangerous, and opted instead to take the group into the Midgewater Marshes. A few hours into the morning, they stopped for a meager, cold breakfast of venison jerky, chunks of apple, and 'brick bread,' aptly named squares of hardened bread that wouldn't easily stale. _Probably because it's already hard enough to break teeth_. Gwen sank her teeth into a piece, chewing it many times until it became soft and slightly more palatable. She attempted a gesture of peace when she pulled out the pouch of dried fruit Barliman had given her, passing it around eagerly. She wanted desperately to prove she was no threat to Strider, much less the hobbits. Gwen glanced up at a stone-faced Strider, and was disappointed to see he was unmoved and had no appreciation for her kindness.

After a full day's sun had passed in the sky, she was exhausted, achy, and wishing for bed. Whining might have been a decent option had she not been in such inhospitable company. Strider was not sympathetic towards her at all. "You insisted upon this journey," he muttered as he passed by her limping form, once. She flipped him off behind his back in a fit of temper, but knew he was right. She didn't regret her choice, but it was damn hard to keep going when she wasn't used to it like he was.

Merry walked beside her after a brief stop for dinner, as sulky as she was because he hadn't had enough to eat that day. Strider was a decent ways ahead, scouting out paths to take through the marshes. Hobbits, Pippin had explained earlier, ate many meals a day, and if they missed them, it could get nasty. Judging by the thunderclouds brewing in the Merry's expression, Gwen believed him without a doubt.

"How do we know this Strider is a friend to Gandalf?" Merry said this in a whisper, but Gwen and the other hobbits heard him easily. She could tell he was not really suspicious of the ranger, but was merely lashing out in petulent anger. Still, his words were ironic, given how little trust was shown to her. Merry, at least, seemed to trust her enough to speak to her. She wondered who Gandalf was, but didn't dare ask, for fear of being accused of gathering information. Gwen shrugged and tried to ignore the ache growing up her back that throbbed fiercely. "You don't, I guess," she whispered in reply. "No more than you know I'm friendly." _Though the last thing I want is to hurt some hobbits who look like kids._ Gwen sighed, continuing,

"Some things you just take on faith, for better or worse."

The air thickened to a dense cloud of gases as they grew closer to the marshes and the fog that lingered on them unnaturally was eerie and too quiet. The ground was growing ever wetter, and it was becoming harder to keep a sound footing on the ever soft ground. "I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler." Frodo added, softly to his kin after a moment, speaking for the first time in her presence all day. Gwen was pretty sure he didn't mean for her to hear him, but she agreed with him nonetheless. She wondered if he thought _she_ didn't look foul enough to be a friend.

Merry scowled blackly, not bothering to hide his response to Frodo's kinder words. "He looks foul enough." Gwen was shocked at his words. Though Gwen might not call him the friendliest of men she had ever met, she knew how important it was that the group had Strider. "I've never been the type to bite the hand that feeds me," she warned gently. "You shouldn't either." She paused, peering at the large bit of water in front of her. Deciding it looked to deep to want to walk through, she jumped lightly over it. The motion made her legs tremble, and she teetered briefly before straightening. Gwen glanced back at Merry, and it turned into a long look over her shoulder. "Strider didn't have to help any of us." She paused, coughing when her breath turned into a faint wheeze.

"Well, me anyway," she murmured, straightening to continue her slow plod-and-jump routine through the boggy marsh. "Where would we be so far without him?" Sam's pony snuffled her neck, spurring her on through the marshes towards the ranger ahead. "Dead in our beds, I'd say," she huffed, unaware that Sam and Frodo were listening to her words as well, and they invoked for the quiet hobbits a feeling of faint guilt. After all, she had defended him against an unknown foe as well as Strider had, even if her efforts were not needed at the time. It had been quickly forgotten - too quickly forgotten.

"Those wraiths knew where we were supposed to be sleeping." Sam's voice was soft in the mist, reminding them all why Strider _should_ be trusted. Merry looked disagreeable, but didn't respond. "Gwen is right; we have no choice but to trust him." Frodo's words rolled over them. Gwen was surprised that he would agree with her at all. She glanced at him, and he met her eyes, smiling a small smile at her, and it was an olive branch between them.

For a long while after, no one spoke.

* * *

The Midgewater Marshes were a complete and utter nightmare.

They were aptly named, too. Enormous clouds of swarming, minuscule insects buzzed about all over in nearly every direction she looked, gathering heavily over the cold, dark pockets of water that the more dry land wove in and out of. Gwen had, at last count, more than two dozen tiny bites on her face and hands alone. They lit her skin up with a fierce itch, forcing her to use every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from scratching at them and scarring her skin. Strider led them through the center of the marshes, knowing the wraiths that tracked them wouldn't follow there. Gwen could see why, too. _Even the wraiths would be carted off by bloodsuckers the size of plates._ She swatted at a niggling bug on her neck. Her hand came away smeared with blood and bug guts. _Yuck._

Gwen had lost her footing more times than she cared to count, and she had been unable to avoid becoming sopping wet from head to toe with each fall. The water was growing deeper the farther into the murky swampland they traveled, but Strider himself seemed unconcerned - or maybe less concerned with the dangers of the marshes than he was the danger of Sauron's minions. Still, it was miserable being cold and wet, and Gwen was sure she would never get used to it. As she half dried, her hair caked into muddy ringlets around her face that stuck to her skin and hardened. Inevitably, though, she would trip again and re-wet herself, beginning the process anew. The sucking, sticky mud of the land they walked on was a trap for injuries as well. Her ankle had been twisted more than once from her many falls, slowing the group considerably. This caused Strider to grow frustrated and eventually, he began to haul her up without waiting for her permission, growling lowly at her apparent weakness.

"What does he expect, exactly?" she grumbled under her breath, trying to ignore the pain shooting up her leg with every step. Luckily the joint didn't seem too puffy just yet, but Gwen was terrified she would break the bone given a few more falls. It was just simply difficult to maintain balance with all the mud and water. "Its not like this is familiar territory for me." She really was doing her best to keep going, and the last thing she wanted was to slow the group down.

Ahead, Strider called out, "I expect you to keep moving without complaint, girl," he growled back at her, proving his hearing to be superior to hers. Merry muttered something lowly under his breath, and Gwen wasn't able to make that out, either. "We'll soon make camp," Strider said more gently a moment later. _Apparently he has really good hearing, on top of being perfectly suited to the outdoors._ And he really was – he had yet to trip or lose his footing on their way through the marshes.

Strider's singular annoyance with _her_ plight grated on her nerves, because she wasn't the only one struggling; the hobbits had it even worse than she did. Every step they took carried them through water and mud that sank them to their waists, forcing them to practically wade through the deeper patches of water and mud. No one, except Strider, seemed immune from the hell that was the marshes. Between the water and midges, the cold almost became an afterthought. Gwen's breath puffed into steamy clouds in front of her face, a clear reminder.

When at last Strider called for them to make camp, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Gwen's first instinct was to find the nearest perch and sit down immediately, but she knew there was work to be done. While the Ranger hunted for their supper in the marshes, Gwen pitched her small tent and the hobbits made a fire just large enough to cook whatever Strider returned with. Sam thoughtfully boiled a spot of water to pour on an old rag, which he passed to her with a tentative smile.

"Girls like to be clean," he said by way of an explanation as he offered it up. "My momma always said that," he added with a hint of red in his cheeks. He held it out like a peace offering between them. Touched beyond words at the hobbit's thoughtfulness, Gwen pressed the hot rag to her face nearly moaning aloud when the heat suffused her icy skin. She hadn't truly realized how cold she was until she felt that heat against her face.

"Thank you, Sam," Gwen replied gratefully. Her voice came out an exhausted murmur, and even Frodo looked at her momentarily in apparent sympathy. She was clearly the least hardy of the bunch of them, and the most ill suited for this journey of theirs. Quiet fell over the makeshift camp, except for Merry and Pippin speaking quietly with one another a short ways from their fire. Merry, it seemed, was still moody, and his eyes flashed angrily at whatever Pippin was telling him. Gwen grew distracted when Strider returned a short while later with a trio of long-eared rabbits, which he tossed carelessly on the ground beside the fire pit before hunching down to enjoy the warmth a moment, balancing his weight evenly on his legs. He eyed her tent, then her leg, thoughtful. "You should put that leg up tonight," he ordered sternly at last. "It's not broken, but I can't afford to have to carry you the rest of the way if you weaken it further."

Anger rose in her at the implication in his words, even as Gwen knew he was right. "I would hate to force you to go out of your way, _Strider_ ," she spat nastily. The weariness in her bones was making her foolish. He glanced at her, meeting her eyes with his own, which were mildly rebuking. "I wouldn't," he answered bluntly. "I would simply leave you here to the midges and the wet." Her temper, it seemed, would not be controlled at the moment, and she sneered at him childishly.

"Oh, you – you...ass!" Gwen took a step toward him defiantly, then went down with a squeak when her weakened ankle gave out beneath her weight. As furious as the sudden, clear proof of Strider's words made her, the fall didn't hurther as it normally might, and Gwen could only glare at him from her place on the ground. "I'm not a weak child," she declared hotly, "and you have no right to talk to me like that!" Strider, a scoff faint across his features, approached her calmly before standing over her and merely staring down her from his vantage point. After an uncomfortable moment, in which the complete silence of the camp permeated the air, the man bent down and picked her up as he had for the dozenth time that day, placing her gently against a mossy rock protruding from the ground for support before hunching down and hiking up her pants to take a look at her ankle. He ignored her vocal protests, and, silent, he began to inspect her injury. His long fingers prodded the weakened joint, making her hiss and pull away.

"It's definitely not broken," he declared after a moment. "Just badly bruised." He rose to full height smoothly and looked down at her with his unfathomable blue-gray eyes. Anger flashed there. "Next time, tell me if you hurt yourself – do not wait," he commanded before turning his back to her fully, preparing to deal with his meager catch for their dinner. Remembering all he had done for her and the hobbits made Gwen feel shamed at how she was acting. "And while you may not be weak, you still act like a child." He tossed the last words over his shoulder before sitting himself beside the fire and ignoring her completely in favor of the rabbits.

Flushing, Gwen wanted to protest and argue with him, but she knew he was right. She _was_ acting like a child. Gwen nodded, but he didn't see her gesture. _Crap._ She had always been stubborn when it came to apologies, but she really did owe him one. "Strider?" she called out hesitantly. He lifted his head, his eyes annoyed. Gwen swallowed. "You're right, I acted like a child just then – I'm sorry," she apologized. The Ranger did not reply, but inclined his head in acknowledgement of her act of maturity. _Well then, it'll have to be a good enough apology for now, won't it?_ She sighed.

Strider set to cleaning the rabbits, and before long, he had a nice rabbit stew boiling, and Sam was softening the brick bread with a bit of water. Gwen They ate in silence, keeping the fire low so there would be less smoke in the air. _Not that it'd matter much in this fog._ It lay as heavy and as thick as a blanket over the land, making it all but impossible to see beyond a few feet. As night descended completely into inky black, an even heavier, cloyingly thick fog rolled over their camp in clutching waves, making almost impossible to breath. Gwen, feeling battered and exhausted, retired to the tent for bed, all but daring Strider to say something otherwise. After an hour of tossing and turning, Gwen found she couldn't sleep a wink. Night sounds increased in duration all around her, disturbing her rest, but the others seemed used to the noise.

Frustrated with herself and her inability to sleep, Gwen unzipped the tent and rolled out. She was surprised to find Merry, Frodo, and Strider still awake around the fire. Her surprise must have reflected in her face because Merry gestured defensively to the stew pot. "I was hungry." Gwen nodded in understanding, moving gingerly on her ankle to the fire to take a seat. She waved a hand at the makeshift dwelling she had erected. "Take the tent, you two, when you're done," she offered. "There will be fewer midges in there." Gwen didn't provide an explanation for her offering, feeling at this point they would either begin to trust her intentions or not, but the hobbits failed to complain and were soon zipped gratefully inside the small contraption. Gwen was left alone by the fire with Strider. She wrapped herself in her throw, grateful she'd had it with her when she 'came through' to this world. Silence descended again, except for the soft sounds of the fire popping every so often, and Strider puffing on a pipe and shifting occasionally in the dark.

Above her head, the star-studded sky gleamed brightly, and for a moment Gwen was lost in the constellations, awed at the number of diamond-like twinkles she could in this land. California was lit often by only neon lights, and a person could hardly ever see the stars. And never like _this_. It was as if there were more stars shining in the sky than there was the black of night. After a while, her eyes began to droop in sleep. Strider remained awake, clearly on guard against their enemies. Unbeknownst to her, he turned to inspect her as she lay by the fire, taking her small form curled as it was against the cold.

"I was not wrong about you, you know," Strider intoned suddenly, jerking Gwen back from the precipice of sleep suddenly. "You _are_ a child. But not in the way I meant, I suspect," he murmured around his pipe, so low he might have been talking almost to himself. Gwen tried to puzzle out his words, but her mind was hazy with sleepiness. Annoyance crept back into her but he did not give her a moment to answer. "Children are selfish and prone to complaints," he explained, "And you have shown neither of these qualities in great abundance today." _He is complimenting me, after all. Huh._ Gwen couldn't deny the very idea had grown shocking, given the disregard he had shown her since they had met.

"Well...thank you, I guess," she replied hesitantly. There was a faint note of disbelief in her voice. He smiled slightly, and removed the pipe from his lips to wave it at her impatiently. "Let us have peace between us, my lady," he requested. "Though I do not agree with your stubborn desire to follow us, I can understand your need." He moved the few crackling logs of the fire around with a long stick, and added two more good sized pieces to the mix. His eyes gleamed in the firelight as he met her curious gaze. "This is a dangerous journey, lady... one you are ill equipped for," he added without venom. Gwen, feeling thoughtful, leaned up on one elbow to study him. _He's right about that._

"Do you _really_ think I'm a threat to Frodo?" she asked, unaware that her inner feelings were leaking through, and his surprise at her question was clear in his eyes. "I'm not, you know," she added strongly. Strider returned to his seat by the fire and took up his pipe again, taking a few puffs before he removed it from his mouth, sighing. "These darkened days have told me to trust no one..." he trailed off, and for a moment Gwen thought that would be the extent of his disappointing answer. "But," he continued, "I do not think you would harm Frodo, no. There is too much kindness in you for that, and far too much gentleness." He returned the pipe to his mouth, his lips twisting in a grimace.

"But I do not believe Frodo's troubles should be yours," he concluded finally. "Indeed, Frodo's cares are far too much for a girl unfit for the wild places of the world to help carry."

"Now sleep," he commanded. "You need your rest if you're to continue farther tomorrow."

She agreed completely, and Gwen settled back into the curled position she had been in before, shuddering a little at how cold she had become. Long minutes drifted off into silence. Closing her eyes fully, Gwen would have drifted off into sleep had she not heard Strider begin to sing in an unknown language. It was a low, whispered melody and his voice was a beautiful tenor. The sound of it pushed her back into wakefulness again. _"Tinúviel elvanui, elleth alfirin ethelhael...O hon ring finnil fuinui, a renc gelebrin thiliol."_ The language itself was something she had never heard on Earth, and it was beautifully melodic. It was also entirely foreign, which after everything she had seen so far, didn't seems odd.

"What is that language you are speaking?" she asked, unthinkingly. It came out breathy and drowsy, for Gwen was very nearly asleep. Abruptly the singing ended, and Gwen mourned its passing with a hint of sadness. For a moment longer, Strider stared into the night sky, silent. She thought he would not answer her.

At last, his voice drifted towards her over the fire. "Tis Sindarin," he whispered softly. "The elvish tongue," came his explanation, before she could ask. Curiosity rose in Gwen, and sleep was all but forgotten now. She wondered how a harsh man like Strider had learned such a delicate language. Gwen opened her eyes and sat up again, fully interested in knowing more. "It is beautiful. What were you singing about?" she asked.

With a heavy sigh, Strider turned to face her, but he clearly did not want to speak about it and was doing so under duress. "The Lady of Lúthien," he explained stiffly. "The immortal elf maiden who gave her love to Beren ... a mortal man." Gwen's heart ached at the note of sadness in his voice. She was confused. "Is that a bad thing? How does the song end?" Strider looked at the blanket of stars glittering in the sky. "She becomes a mortal for her love, and died as a result."

 _How tragic, and yet, she chose the path to mortality. For her love._ Gwen's romantic nature bled out of her mouth before she could filter herself. "That is how real love should be," she declared. Strider turned away from her then, silent and considering her words. "Love that causes death is not how it should be."

Under the blanket, Gwen traced the raised white scars that lay on her abdomen, thinking of her own near experience with death, and couldn't help but feel they were suddenly talking about something much more personal for Strider. The silence between them lengthened, the sounds of night moving back in to fill the void. The thick, shiny scar below her ribs throbbed, serving as a reminder of her past.

"We all have to die sometime, Strider," she murmured knowingly. "And it seems to me that most of the time, it's a horrible, awful, painful thing to go through." She paused, considering her words carefully. "I'd choose to die for something beautiful, too, if I could."

* * *

 _Please review._


	5. Mean Right Hook

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Four: Mean Right Hook**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _13 months ago - California_

"Get your filthy fucking hands off her, Malcolm," Gwen growled lowly, her voice threaded with fierce, potent rage. "Or I'm going to get the officer on duty." She didn't particularly like that idea, not wanting to leave the situation as it stood before her eyes, but she would if she had no other choice. Already, she was searching for other possibilities. Gwen's hands trembled with fear and anger.

The bathroom door slammed behind her, punctuating her words clearly. The sound startled the big football player, drawing his attention from the twisted game he appeared to be playing. This boy was strong, and tended to throw that strength around carelessly. In the first moments she had seen her best friend, Jessie, pressed obscenely against the wall of the stall within the narrow space, Gwen had first thought he was joking around, as he often did. The girls of the school flocked to the beefy jock, loving his twin combination of good looks and suave charm, but she had never given him much attention herself, preferring to focus on her grades.

A split second of logical thinking, paired with the relieved look on Jessie's face at Gwen's intrusion, told Gwen a different story. Just what was the football star doing in the girls' bathroom, anyway? He clearly was invading Jessie's personal space and making her uncomfortable; it had been easy to call out to him then. Malcolm looked pissed that she had bothered. "This is between me and sexy legs, here – so back the fuck off," he snarled over his broad back, clearly expecting her to obey, all but ignoring her presence as he ran a hand up Jessie's leg in a way he must have thought was pleasing, but that only made her whimper. He looked big and scary in the small bathroom, but Gwen wasn't about to leave her friend alone with him. Not even to get the officer as she had threatened.

He turned his attention fully back to Jessie, who was pinned against the bathroom stall helplessly, her lithe frame hopelessly unable to force the big boy from her personal space, and Malcolm didn't seem at all willing to let her go. It took Gwen a few moments to truly understand just _why_ the boy had Jessie stuck against him like that – he was trying to hurt her - _like that._ Appalled at what she was witnessing, rage scalded the back of her throat palpably.

Though he towered over both of them by a good five inches, anger for her friend made her brave – and stupid. Gwen rushed at him suddenly, screaming and kicking at his balls like her dad had taught her to do in situations like this. He was so much taller though, and she missed once or twice, but the element of surprise made Malcolm slower, and she connected once, sending him howling in pain to his knees.

Jessie looked white and shaken, but it was obvious she didn't want to leave Gwen either. She seemed to curl in on herself a little until Gwen grabbed her attention. Her eyes were huge as Gwen stared at her, looking for injuries. They both were in shock over what had happened. Gwen touched Jessie carefully, breathing heavily. "Go get the officer." Malcolm was quickly recovering, and she didn't really know what to do next. As Jessie ran out of the bathroom, he reached for her with his big, meaty hands. Frantically Gwen intercepted his hands, and he pulled her down to her knees, to nearly his eye level.

Fear made her stupid, too, apparently, because she fumbled the chance to poke at his eyes, instead clawing at his face and drawing blood. "You bitch!" He snarled, and his hands on her were crushing her wrists painfully, grinding the bones together with his larger strength. Gwen recognized instantly the desire to hurt her in his clear eyes, and it shook her deeply. Until this moment, she had never _truly_ understood that people could be less than good, less than honorable. In theory she knew, but to be faced with that hot anger directed at her, laced with malicious violence, made her tremble inside. It also made her desperate to get away from him.

Gwen wrenched away her arm from his grasp, rolling to her feet in a practiced defensive move, bringing her knee up into Malcolm's groin firmly. This time her aim was perfect, and his body crumpled again to the floor, where he rolled and moaned aloud. Her father had insisted on this training, she recalled. She and her mother had been equally unenthused about it, but he had had his way in the end. Looking down at this massive boy, Gwen was grateful for it now. Adrenaline and fury were twin energies in her blood, but her meticulous mind had already spotted the potential disaster in this situation.

 _He could have really hurt me, or Jessie_ , she mused, rubbing at the tender spots on her wrists where he had gotten a hold on her. Wary of his big frame sprawled out on the blue and white tile, Gwen moved cautiously towards the door, knowing she didn't have the strength to fend off a full on attack from him, especially as angry as she had made him. She could see him inhaling deeply, and exhaling hoarsely. "I'm going to kill you, you goddamned bitch!" He groaned as the door to the bathroom swung open to reveal Jessie and the aging police officer on duty at their school. As the officer hauled him up, Malcolm spat hatefully at her feet, and in pure retaliation, Gwen hauled back and punched him in the face as hard as she could. The audible crack that followed coupled with the terrible pain n her hand made her wonder if she'd broken his nose or her hand.

 _I probably shouldn't have done that_ , she thought ruefully.

* * *

Blood splattered wetly around the floor at Gwen's feet in little round circles, dripping on the expensive jade green tile in neat watery bunches despite the boy's efforts to contain the flow with tissue. It was with no small measure of satisfaction that she noticed Malcolm Dean's lip and nose were swelling to levels disproportionate to his face in the minutes after they had been seated, and when he inhaled, the air whistled in his mangled airways. She had walloped him good, by the looks of it. _Serves the pompous asshole right for how he treated Jessie._ Anger was beginning to override her thought processes completely, and Gwen wanted nothing more than to beat the utter living shit out of him. _Maybe his bloody nose will remind him to keep his filthy paws off my friend._ She still wanted to rip his balls off for his disgusting actions.

The principal of J.W. Franklin High School, however, didn't seem to agree with her at all. Seated in a wing-backed chair across from her, a desk piled high with paperwork and forms between them, Dr. Lydia Shullitz watched her with a critical, thoughtful, _calm_ eye, and Gwen could see the woman was deeply disappointed in her, even as she was very concerned. That was the only drawback for Gwen to brawling in the corridors – well, that and bruised knuckles. Gwen glanced down at her own faintly red and swollen hand, hoping she hadn't broken anything.

The severe, middle-aged woman removed her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose, and said with a sigh, "Tell us what happened, please, Ms. Carrick." Gwen licked her lips nervously, shooting her father, who stood off to the side watching her with a closed, unreadable expression, a wary glance. He towered over her like a stony gargoyle, and Gwen got the feeling he was also angry. He, too, must have been displeased with her, but was waiting patiently for her explanation before he turned his wrath on her.

She shot Malcolm a nasty look, resisting the urge to recoil at the malice that glittered so clearly in his eyes. "He had his grubby paws all over my friend!" Rage misted her eyes again as she remembered Jessie's struggling form up against the bathroom wall. He had had her pinned with his own hips, and had clearly been enjoying her discomfort. The obscenity of the memory disgusted her and made her feel dirty on an intimate level. He might have even raped Jessie had she not caught him! "He deserved everything he got," she concluded softly. The big football player tried to make a sound of protest but winced when his nose twinged painfully. Mrs. Shullitz turned her head with a startled, cautious expression on her face. "Is this true, Mr. Dean?" She had already heard the officer's story, and was adding these facts to what she already knew.

The boy at Gwen's side scoffed at her words, as if to suggest that Gwen was lying, but there was a gleam in his nasty eyes that she felt the Principal would have to be blind or stupid to miss. When he spoke, his voice was muffled and rather nasally, but he was still trying to maintain his cool. "Man, Mrs. S, ain't none of it true," he began, making Gwen wince at the causal nature of his words. _He doesn't give a shit about respect at all._ It really didn't surprise her now, but how had she missed this crucial piece of her classmate's demeanor? Malcolm's words penetrated her thoughts as he "explained his side". "See – her friend asked me to meet her in the bathroom for some – well, you know," he smirked, pausing then, and Gwen had to fight hard with herself to keep from going over the small table between them and beating his eyes in.

Instead, she met Mrs. Shullitz' gaze evenly, ignoring him entirely. _I bet his balls are throbbing something fierce right about now._ That thought was enough to calm her down – she had done enough, in this case, and he wouldn't be hurting Jessie again. "That's simply not true," she rebutted quietly, with what dignity she could muster. _She_ would not be as awful as Malcolm, no matter what she did. Mrs. Shullitz watched her levelly before switching to Malcolm, clearly trying to determine the best course of action.

After a moment, she sighed. "I will speak to Jessalyn directly about this matter, to see what she has to say about it." Removing her glasses pointedly, the Principal gazed sternly at the star athlete. "If what Ms. Carrick is saying is true, Mr. Dean," she continued seriously, "You could be in for more than just action through this school. Do you understand what I'm saying?" She meant trouble with the law, Gwen was certain. She suppressed a smile when Malcolm went white as a sheet at the woman's implication. It was clear he hadn't thought about the consequences of his actions. "B..– but Mrs. S, I didn't do nothing!"

The principal nodded firmly, ignoring his incorrect grammar and his disrespect. "Then you should have nothing to worry about." She returned the wire frames to her face with a note of finality. "I'll be contacting your father within the week. You are dismissed." After a pregnant pause in which everyone was silence, the Principal studied some papers under her elbows and Malcolm lifted himself heavily from the chair, his movements stiff. When he was gone, the woman removed her glasses again to allow them to dangle gently from her hands, her gaze firmly on Gwen's. The woman met her gaze cleanly and with a hint of sympathy. "As for the issue of fighting in the bathroom – obviously Ms. Carrick, that is against school rules, for whatever the reason it occurs," she explained swiftly. "I have spoken to Mr. Dean's father, and under the circumstances, has declined to press charges, but he expects that you'll be punished severely."

Everyone knew Malcolm Dean's father, Thomas. He was some bigwig silicon developer from up in the valley and was just rolling in gobs of money. She had never seen Malcolm wearing anything but the most expensive name brand clothing and shoes, but she had never seen the man at one of his games. Gwen always thought it was sad he never seemed to have an ounce of time for his son. Even today he hadn't shown up in person, whereas Gwen's father had been there within minutes. She tamped down the sympathy she felt for the guy, knowing it was his fault they were in this mess to begin with, absent father or no. _He should'a kept his hands to himself._ Gwen nodded, accepting whatever punishment she was given. _It was worth_ it, Gwen thought. _Jessie's defense was worth it._

Mrs. Shullitz sighed heavily, clearly burdened by the events of the day. "I'm assigning you to volunteer this summer with the county's Youth and Recreation Summer Program. You'll come here three times a week to tutor summer school students as needed. As your record is spotless, Ms. Carrick, I'll not be suspending you upon the beginning of the year as is typical in cases like these."

Gwen nodded, her heart sinking a little as her dream of going away to her grandfather's vineyard for the summer fell away. "Thank you, Ms. Shullitz." Despite feeling her actions were blameless and warranted, Gwen knew this was a blow to her reputation at the prestigious school. The principal stared her down sternly. "Keep your nose clean, Ms. Carrick," she warned.

Gwen rose and shuffled out of the office, her father in tow. He had yet to say anything at all, seemingly soaking in every word of explanation. To her surprise, Malcolm was standing nearly outside the office. She could tell Malcolm wanted to speak to her – probably to threaten her – but her father was in the way. With a hand on her back, her father led her from the school silently, the displeasure he was feeling palpable. Gwen's heart sank, knowing she was about to really get it from her father. When they got into the car, he turned to her angrily. "That boy got what was coming to him if you ask me," he said, surprising her completely. He wasn't going to yell at her for fighting? Gwen stared at him in faint shock as the car backed out of the parking spot. "But the punishment you got was fair." He shot her a sidelong glance. Gwen smiled a little at her father, nodding, her heart swelling with love for him. She shouldn't have doubted that he would understand. After all, it was he who had insisted she learn self defense.

He smiled in return, prodding her gently with a finger to her soft stomach. "I expect you'll help your mother at the pantry this summer, then?" He asked. When Gwen glanced at him questioningly, he clarified, "Since you won't be able to go to the vineyard after all..." Gwen sighed, visions of glorious mornings spent walking the rows of fat grapes dying in her head. Her mother owned a local food pantry that aided the homeless and needy every day, giving out three square meals a day. It was always busy and she always needed the help.

"I guess so..."

Her father smoothed her hair and kissed her temple before giving his full attention to the road. Then, in a flash of wicked, typical humor, he laughed out loud, saying, "You always did have a mean right hook, my girl," he crowed. "You had to have broken that boy's nose! You did me proud, given the circumstances." To Gwen, his words were pure gold, and almost made her forget about her throbbing hand.

* * *

 _Please review!_


	6. No Sword, No Problem

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Five: No Sword, No Problem**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _Present day_

Awareness flooded her senses, stark and sudden and vaguely startling; the abyss of sleep receded like a wave leaving the sandy shore of a beach, leaving the happy dreams of her parents behind and in its place a sensation of cold. Resisting the pull of awareness, Gwen struggled to regain those precious dreams. Snippets of sound danced in her memory, but nothing came together concretely, except for the light sound of her mother's laughter, and her father's deep, loving voice. How she missed them! A rush of homesickness brought salty wetness together under her eyelids, but with ruthless effort she kept them back, knowing that to despair for what was out of reach would only make her time spent in Middle Earth that much harder.

 _Strength, now, Gwen._

Her mother's advice, murmured in a soft voice so long ago, rose up from the ocean of memories she desperately held on to. _Yes...I've got to be strong now._ Gwen gathered her wits, remembering where she was and with whom she traveled. Blinking into full wakefulness at last, Gwen yawned and reflexively stretched. _Strider. Frodo and the hobbits._ Then tent was propped askew as it had been every night since they had left Bree, and clearly the hobbits had not stirred yet. The buzz of midges around her head was infuriating and distracting, so she swatted a hand around to discourage them. _Not that it does much good at all._ The numerous bites on her skin proved that definitively. _I'll be so glad to leave this place_. So far, her impression of Middle Earth was less than pleasant.

Gwen was laying askew against a softened log, one that had been exposed to water so often and for so long it barely retained its solid properties, wrapped in her blanket. Mist had covered her skin and clothing in a thin sheen of wetness overnight, making her shiver miserably even as she realized it. She wiped at her face, wishing for the warmth of the fire, which had long since died away. Weak sunlight filtered through the thickened fog around them, but it did little warm the chill in her bones. Strider, at least, was awake and moving quietly around the small camp, clearing all evidence of their stay from the surrounding bit of land efficiently. Gwen heard the hobbits snoring inside the tent now, but she had a feeling the Ranger would be waking them soon. Even Gwen had learned the man well enough by now to know that his incessant pacing meant that Strider was very ready to get moving. He seemed so very restless, and not for the first time did she wonder what his purpose was in all of this. Why was he helping the hobbits? And indeed, why did the hobbits need helping? Gwen's curiosity was strong, but she had no desire to lose what little trust she had gained by asking about it.

 _Might as well get up and help pack everything up._ Gwen started to rise, only to realize there was no need to be hasty. All but the tent and her blanket had already been packed. It made her smirk a little to realize she had been right about Strider's restlessness.

When he saw she was sitting up and moving around, the Ranger tossed her an apple and venison jerky wordlessly, leaving Gwen to tuck into her breakfast in silence. She wasn't really put off by his silence. _He really is not a morning person._ Beside the point, they had not spoken much at all since leaving Bree, except for that first night in the marshes, and she knew it was because he did not trust her fully even after days of traveling together. She knew he understood her reasons for traveling with them, but they had yet to get past their mutual wariness of one another. There was understanding between them, though – that he would not question her if she did not question him. They were, at this point, tentative allies.

Thoughtfully, Gwen sat back against the log, chewing the tough jerky as she studied the ranger discreetly. There was not much even the hobbits knew about him. He was a natural leader, and was as capable and as strong-willed a man as any President or Governor she knew of, and he carried himself with a regal bearing, like a king who had held his throne a long time. It was odd, really, considering how ragged and poor he was. Gwen had seen nothing of true value on him, except for a silver ring upon his hand. Certainly not the type she'd picture as a nobleman. Her eyes lingered upon his wide shoulders and strong back as he tinkered with some part of the pony's girdle. He was clearly in shape, and used to travelling long distances and defending himself from others as he needed. Up to this point, she admitted, Strider had led them skillfully away from the wraiths, even if the path he had chosen was as unsavory as the marshes. She may not agree or even like the secrecy with which he carried himself and the hobbits away from Bree, but Gwen was coming to respect his authority as their leader and even rely on his knowledge of this world.

She wanted to believe that he was a good man, but Gwen had not seen enough of his actions or his mannerisms to fully judge him as her father - and life - had taught her to do. As young as she was, Gwen had already come to understand that all people were not merely 'good' or 'bad' people; most carried shades of both types of qualities within them. With that wisdom in mind, she had done her best not to see him as the harsh, secretive man she had seen of him so far.

It had been nearly a week since they had left the town of Bree behind, and though she couldn't see outward signs of weariness on the ranger's countenance, Gwen knew he must be growing as tired and careworn as she was. _Okay, well maybe not as much as me, but still – his eyes are weary – and hard._ Gwen rarely saw the Ranger's stern countenance shift into anything other than a grimace or a scowl. She wondered what the man had seen and done to gain such a look as that. Her gaze lingered on his face another moment. _I wonder how old he is_. That, too, was a mystery Strider carried. He didn't look _old_ in the sense she was used to, but nor did he look anywhere near her age. Of course, the hobbits had shown her clearly that Middle Earth was not quite the same as home in terms of looks and outward appearances.

Musing on her heavy thoughts deeply as she ate, Gwen recalled her experiences in her mother's food pantry, and how the people who came there rarely smiled or laughed or even looked happy at all. At a young age, she had seen how people carried their troubles close, whether outward, physical signs indicated them or not. She had learned very keenly too that life was just plain hard, for everyone, though each person's difficulties may be different. Strider, she noted, certainly showed his cares plainly on his face. At least, _she_ thought he did. Gwen could see the stress in the pinched way he gazed out over the land, and in the tenseness of his body.

 _Still, he is a handsome man, even guarded as he is._ The unbidden thought made her skin heat up in a blush, and Gwen immediately looked away from the Ranger, embarrassed. She had no business thinking that way at all. None. Muttering to herself about how handsome men exist everywhere and really aught not to be reminded of it, Gwen started to rise from her makeshift bed. Ahead of her, Strider paused in the middle of saddling Sam's pony to gaze at her, making Gwen freeze as if she had been caught doing something bad. To her shock, an almost-smile softened his features somewhat, and his eyes were crinkled, as if it only just reached them. "Thank you, milady," he murmured quietly. "I think," he continued as an afterthought. Realizing she had spoken out loud and that he had heard her somehow, Gwen flushed a brilliant scarlet in response. She thought he might have spoken further, but the tent unzipped and vaguely dazed- looking Merry interrupted his words, followed by a tired-looking Frodo. _I'm just going to pretend I didn't say that.._

Knowing Strider was eager to get going, Gwen stood resolutely, sighing. She folded her blanket carefully before stowing it away in her pack. The hobbits were bumbling about the camp sleepily, already calling for the first of their many meals. Gwen heard Strider grumbling to them in reply, but Gwen paid them little mind as she attended to herself. After a few minutes the small noises of wakefulness quieted as the hobbits began to eat. In California, such silence might have driven her up a wall, as she was a fairly chatty girl. Now, it seemed, she had turned that nature inward a little. A vague shadow fell over her, interrupting her internal monologue, and she rose from her haunches to find Strider towering over her, reminding her of how short she really was. Wordlessly he passed her a cloth bundle that was filled with dry, fresh moss. "Oh, thank you," she murmured softly, pink leeching into her cheeks as she remembered it's purpose.

He nodded, and led the pony past her without a word. Grateful for his discreetness, Gwen tried to ignore the trickle of fluids between her legs. She felt wholly disgusting and utterly filthy. _I really need a shower._ By far the largest issue of the hurried journey for them all was hygiene control, and it had been nearly forgotten in their haste to get to where every this elven place was. None of them had had the time or resources to clean themselves well in over six days. Her teeth were gritty despite her efforts to scrape them with the frayed twig she had found and boiled, and sweat was already trickling down her neck. She was feeling more than a little ripe. Gwen dealt with these issues with as much grace as she was able to muster, and she took a fair amount of comfort from the knowledge that each of her other companions was just as filthy as she was.

She had been, however, wholly unprepared for her monthly menstruation. Gwen was one of those lucky girls who was quite regular, even down to the day; her menses began on the same day of every cycle without fail, but in all the craziness of coming to Middle Earth she had forgotten it entirely and was surprised by the beginning of her flow. _Not that I would have known what to do with myself even if I had remembered. It's not like they have maxi pads or tampons here..._

Mortification swamped her every time she thought of how Strider had caught her, quite literally, with her pants around her ankles in the dark of night. He had come to her aid when she cried out in helpless anger at the sight of blood between her legs, thinking her hurt or in danger. He rushed through the trees, heedless of her privacy, and he had seen everything. Thankfully she had not had to explain. Understanding clearly what had happened when he caught sight of blood between her legs, Strider showed her where to find moss to line her breeches. It would soak up the flow, he had explained carefully, without a hint of emotion in his face or voice. He had been distant, wholly polite, perhaps even fairly cold during this exchange. For her, it was mortifying _God, it's too embarrassing, even in my memory!_

But, embarrassment wouldn't get her going today, she knew. Mentally setting it aside, Gwen set out away from camp, settling for a copse of trees a short distance away to give her privacy and changed out the moss-lined belt contraption she had been wearing for three days. She tossed away the used moss, trying not to shudder at her modern view of how disgusting that was. Realistically, Gwen knew it would degrade all on its own, but thinking about it, coupled with the smell, made her feel queasy. _God, it's already so hot_. The marshes seemed to hold in heat, probably due to the heavy fog that lingered throughout the day as an insulating layer over the ground. By the time she had returned and was ready to travel for the day, Gwen was damp with perspiration and exhausted with the effort it took to move. _The heavy fog makes it so sticky.._

Weariness was a nearly constant companion also, Gwen had decided. Strider was hurrying them along at a brutal pace – and it was catching up with her. Already she was tired, and they hadn't even left yet. When they did finally leave, it was brutally discouraging how quickly she grew tired of the muck and the water and every. slow. step. The hobbits seemed especially weary today as well. Gwen encouraged them to keep moving as best she could, even as she wanted to drop with every step. Before the morning sun had cleared the trees, they were already hiking though rolling hills. The rest of the day and subsequent days seemed to blur together as bone-deep tiredness set in, but Gwen was determined not to be a hindrance to anyone.

Before she knew it, two days had passed, and the path they now traveled was a rather easy one in comparison to those days spent being eaten alive in the marsh. Once the fog lifted to expose the natural light and dispel the thick humidity, the sun lit them warmly, despite the cool winds that blew across the plain nearly unceasingly. Pippin told her entertaining tales of life in the Shire and of his father, the Thain of the Shire (who she assumed was an important figure among their people), to pass the time. It amused her how animated he became as he told his tales, waving his arm back and forth. His eyes lit up with good humor as he spoke. "...and then, he says to me, 'Peregrin, my boy," his voice deepened falsely to mimic his father's timber, "Keep your bloody hands off my sword, or I'll skin you with it!'" The sandy-haired hobbit smiled delightfully, obviously gleefully remembering this conversation. He was telling her about his father's exploits, and how it was nearly legend that he had been somewhat of a warrior.

"Of course, I didn't listen," He winked at her cheekily, and Gwen laughed out loud, earning a reprimanding look from Strider at the noise. Hobbits, she had learned, were truly interesting people. It was apparently very rare for any hobbits to leave the Shire at all, as most of them preferred the peace and simple quiet of their lives within the green hills. Merry had shown her on Frodo's map just where they lived west of Bree. How odd it was, then, to see _four_ of them this far east. Their stories and laughter died away as they caught sight of a fairly ominous sight. In the distance, Gwen could see the ruin of what must have been an ancient tower dominating the landscape. What disturbed her about it was how lonely and fragmented it was, as if it was a relic of an age long ago.

 _Oh wow...would you look at that._ It stood proudly, a silent sentinel over the lands surrounding it. _I wonder why it's abandoned._ They continued their trek up the hills, and Gwen soon realized they were traveling towards the tower. It grew larger and more ruinous the closer they came, and the sight of it seemed to have driven the casual conversation away from the small band of travelers. They walked in silence now. Strider fell into step beside her at one point, pausing to give the hobbits, who were flagging a short ways behind them, a chance to catch their breath and join them. Gwen stopped too, curious what the man wanted.

"For a woman unaccustomed to travel over long distances, Lady Gwen," he began, "You have adapted very well to our pace in a remarkably short period of time." It was true that the grueling exercise of the last week had forced a change in her body that was impossible for her to miss. Where once her flesh was soft, it was now growing firm and supple. She had much more endurance, and could walk many miles without stopping, whereas before she could barely make the first mark without feeling out of breath. Rather surprised at his kindness, Gwen inclined her head in thanks at his compliment. She was startled when her jerkin was nuzzled by Sam's pony, who thought they were stopping for good and was seeking his daily treat. The gentle creature's touch made her laugh aloud, the sound lingering in the cold air. Patting the pony's head, Gwen smiled a little at the Ranger, who stood watching her.

"Thank you...but I am very tired." He returned her smile with a half one of his own, smirking knowingly at her before becoming distracted by the hobbits, who had caught up to them. Gwen glanced sympathetically at the four of them; all were visibly exhausted. They looked faintly green around the gills, as if they were ill, and Frodo in particular looked as if he was going to collapse with every step. The journey had been rough on them all, but none more so than he. Seeing him so sick-looking made her wonder why exactly Frodo had to do any of this to begin with. It was clearly not something he was prepared for. But it really wasn't her business.

She shared a look with Strider, who sighed reluctantly, knowing he had little choice but to stop and let them catch their breath. "We'll rest here tonight." Strider motioned up the large hill he called Weathertop before striding up the hill towards the ruins. She studied the ancient tower a moment before beginning the ascent to the crumbling steps behind him, her aching thighs screaming in protest at every movement.

"I'm so tired I could sleep for a week," moaned Pippin heavily. Sam's breathing became even more labored as they ascended the thousand-foot hill behind the indomitable ranger. Gwen offered to carry his packs the short way up, but the hobbit refused.

"I'm too hungry to be tired," breathed Merry in gasping reply. Gwen hefted her bag, needing a mental nudge to get her up the remaining feet when every muscle in her body was protesting. Her father's voice rose up vividly in her mind at that moment. _Buck up, kid..._ The clearly remembered, weathered face of her father rose up to fill her vision, while the words he so often spoke echoed in her head. Simultaneously, sadness and warmth filled her as she remembered his favorite saying. He had been all about self-reliance and strength of will. _I miss you, Dad..._

She reached the base of the tower with a final huff, pushing away her homesick thoughts. "What is this place, Strider?" Gwen's breath puffed out in steamy clouds in front of her face, and her question stopped the Ranger. He stared up at the ruin above them thoughtfully before settling his gray eyes upon her. "This was once the great watchtower at Amon Sûl," he explained, his voice softly carrying across the wind to her. "It was burned by the Witch-King of Angmar many years ago and left to ruin." He glanced at Gwen. Seeing her confusion at the name he had uttered, Strider elaborated, "The Witch-King is the leader of the wraiths that track us, Lady Gwen. The Nazgûl. He is a most powerful and deadly foe." When he started up the dilapidated steps to the tower proper, she followed, eager for the coming rest.

Thinking of the wraiths made her cold, and not in a natural sense. Those evil creatures were unnaturally malevolent, and Gwen remembered the way she had felt when she first encountered one outside of Bree. "Why are they following us?" She was growing tired of being in the dark about what was happening with the hobbits and Strider. Her question went unanswered, as she knew it would.

Within minutes Sam and Pippin had the pony unloaded. They seemed intent on yet another meal, and were digging through the packs of supplies looking for various goods. Strider wandered off for a while, presumably to scout out their next path and to hunt for some kind of food. Alone like this on the hill, and exposed for what felt like miles made Gwen more nervous and agitated than the Marshes had. The heavy, dense fog had been almost protective, and now they could be seen by anyone who happened to be nearby the tower. When Strider returned with a bundle in his arms that was not dead, Gwen was surprised and relieved. He crouched down and unwrapped it to reveal several gleaming, short swords. He passed one to each hobbit before he stood and looked down upon them seriously. "I'm going to have a look around," he declared quietly. "Keep those weapons close, you may need them."

Gwen studied the blade in Merry's hands curiously and with a bit of anxiety. "Do you think that's a good idea? There are wraiths close by, you know." She knew she was being a little snotty, but his leaving them alone made her nervous. _It's not like my dagger is going to do me any good against those creatures._ She had never even held a blade before coming to Middle Earth, much less used one. There were only four swords in the bundle, which meant she would have to do without. Strider shot a look of pure annoyance at her, and she felt faintly reprimanded.

He didn't acknowledge her worries. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't find a blade for you, Lady Gwen," he said, skirting her question entirely. "Hopefully there will be no need for even these. You have the dagger I gave you?" Gwen nodded, well aware of the approaching night. She really didn't want to have to use her dagger, because that meant that whatever she used it on would have to be very, very close to her. Still, it made her feel silly and she didn't express her fears to the stoic Ranger. He'd probably just ignore them anyway. "Good," he said, standing up to his full height. "Stay here. I'll return soon." Strider disappeared in a flash, and Gwen had to keep herself from calling him back as a sudden wave of anxiety crashed over her. She took in the lengthening darkness around them nervously, and she nearly forgot the hobbits entirely as her own consuming thoughts rose up. Before long, her eyes were drooping in weariness, despite the need to be alert. Moments from sleep, Gwen pitched her tent for the hobbits and wrapped herself in her blanket to ward off the cold.

She was asleep before the sun set below the horizon.

* * *

The inhuman shriek of the Nazgûl woke her instantly, the sound sending violent tremors through her body. Gwen couldn't be sure if the sound was an echo from a dream or a real thing, but to hear it at all made her nervous. Her wakefulness growing, she became aware of the tension mounting in the tiny camp the group had made atop the ruins. The hobbits had started a fire that cast a low glow around them, and Merry and Pippin were muttering angrily about dirty tomatoes, while Frodo stomped out the meager fire sending smoke tendrils through the air. The whistling of the air around them grew into a moan, and Gwen listened for other signs of danger. Her instincts were flaring at her, and she couldn't deny the undercurrent of approaching danger. Grimly, Gwen noted that Strider was nowhere to be found. She felt more exposed than ever atop that hill without him. At least in the marshes, the dense fog had covered them protectively, shielding them from the eyes of those who followed them. Still, it wasn't normal for her to be so nervous. She hadn't seen or heard the wraiths since Bree. When the second wailing shriek echoed through the air, Gwen knew she was right to be nervous. _Oh, God...the wraiths must be here! But how did they find us?_

She jerked up from her resting place with a clatter, her mind instantly fully awake, startling the hobbits. None of them, other than Frodo, seemed to have the good sense to be scared of the sounds in the night. They were _eating,_ around a _fire_ , and didn't seem at all worried that a wraith was close enough to hear. Sam offered her a plate of bacon and stewed tomatoes sweetly as she lurched toward them. Gwen shook her head at the gentle hobbit, only slightly less considerate than normal. The undercurrent of danger, of malevolent figures approaching quickly, grew stronger, and threw her senses into turmoil.

 _Flee, run! Don't let him catch you again, Gwen!_ Automatically, against her will, her mind retrieved images of her attacker on that chilly night. _What the fuck?_ She squeaked in fear and confusion, causing Merry to glance quizzically at her. Gwen couldn't understand what it was about these wraiths that reminded her so strongly of that incident in her past. The reaction was visceral and couldn't be stopped. _They're coming._ The urge to run away was so great within her, and she knew instinctively the wraiths were close now. "Come with me," she hissed, grabbing the nearest hobbit by the arm. The fear within her was a tangible thing, and Gwen struggled to control her emotions and use her intellect. They looked at her, confused, but another shriek rent the night in two in that moment, spurring the hobbits into action. They seemed to finally understand the danger they were in.

Gwen looked over the edge of the crumbling tower, but couldn't see anything in the darkness. That didn't mean they weren't there, stalking them. She felt it in her bones that the evil minions were after them now. "Go!" she commanded strongly, pushing them up. Abandoning their supper, the hobbits armed themselves with the worn swords. Gwen nearly shoved Pippin up the crumbling stairs in her haste to put distance between the wraiths and the hobbits. _Oh, god!_ _Where is Strider? We're all going to die if he doesn't show up soon._ They crouched low at the top of the ancient, ruined tower, and Gwen prayed shew as wrong and that the wraiths were not coming after all.

But fear was eating a hole in her insides, pushing her to flee, like she had done the night she had nearly died. Her subconscious, it seemed, had paired her attack with the wraiths for some reason, and for a moment it was all she could feel – malevolent hands upon her, suffocating her, killing her, stabbing her. _Oh Christ, not now!_ She had to protect the hobbits, and herself! Suddenly, it was all very ironic - her being here, with the hobbits, with something evil after them for some God-awful reason. Numbly, Gwen acknowledged the desire to be back in Bree, safe inside the Prancing Pony. _You could have gotten to the elves a different way._ She never should have followed these hobbits into the wild, knowing _something_ was definitely amiss with them. Still, she was here with them now, and she cared about them. _What did these things want with them?_ What was so special about four hobbits that would cause some powerful fairy of doom to come after them?

Gwen wasn't sure when the hobbits lives had become as important as her own, and perhaps it was a result of her own fears, but it was suddenly very important to her that the evil Maiar Sauron never got whatever he was after from the hobbits, and that the wraiths never touched them. But they were trapped in a decrepit old tower with no escape or ability to fight to speak of, and Strider was nowhere in sight. The adage about a rock and a hard place had never seemed so ironic.

The hobbits stood in front of Frodo, a short column of solidarity in protecting him against the threat of the wraiths. They looked utterly terrified of what was to surely come over the stone walls. "What the hell are these things after?" she screamed, causing Frodo and Pippin to jerk in fright at the unexpected sound. She had to know what she was risking her own life for, but no one answered. Of course not. Gwen clutched the small dagger she'd had since Bree in her fist, unable to move from her spot. Terrible darkness closed her mind to all but the fear beating at her and the impending danger that awaited her and the hobbits. Burning red orange eyes filled her mind's eye, and she cried out in fear and, like one of Pavlov's dogs in response to learned stimulus, pain. _Come on, Strider. Now would be a great time to appear.._

Terrifyingly, the wraiths appeared between the stone columns like huge flightless birds gliding over the stones, and the malevolence beating around her surged and overwhelmed her mind's defenses. Like a movie, images whipped through her mind's eye, and Gwen was helpless against the tide of them inside. With a low keening cry of distress, Gwen sank to her knees, watching in helpless horror as the Nazgûl advanced on the hobbits with single-minded purpose. Whatever they wanted, it was clear they knew it would be found with the hobbits and not her. She couldn't move an inch; her muscles were paralyzed, and she wasn't sure the wraiths had even noticed her, so singularly focused as they were upon the hobbits. But at the sound of her cries, one wraith swooped it's head towards her like a predatory bird. Gwen shrieked, unaware of the tears streaking her face.

 _Oh fuck. No. No. No. No._ The wraith seemed intent on closing in on her now – and she fell backwards in an attempt to get away. The figure was so reminiscent of her attacker on Earth. As he closed in upon her, the scent and sound and feel of his energy mimicked that of the random person who had tried to kill her. Logically it made no sense, but her ability to think had fled. Terror sent her tumbling back, scrambling for purchase on the crumbling stones, but still the wraith came closer. Beyond him, she could see the other wraiths closing in on the hobbits. _Oh no_! "Get away from me!" she shrieked desperately.

" _Gwennnnndolyn.."_ the wraith hissed, so close she could touch him if she wanted, and she screamed, trapped between memories and reality. As if clutched by a seizure, Gwen's body went rigid and bowed obscenely along the stones. The wraith's presence had shattered her mind's coping mechanisms and was overwhelmed. Pain suffused her marrow, and every nerve ending was on fire at its' closeness. A gauntlet-covered hand shrouded in gray reached out to touch her, and just as he would have met her flesh with his own demonic fingers, Gwen's lost consciousness completely, mercifully released from whatever force had such paralyzing control over her senses. As she slumped back, the hobbits attacked the other wraiths, forcing the one on Gwen to aid its' companions.

As it moved away from her, Gwen's mind awoke, though the barrage on her senses continued. Horrified by what she was seeing, Gwen watched as Sam took a brave swing at the wraith in front, only to go flying through the air. He crashed into the ruined stones of the tower, landing in a bloodied heap a short distance from her. Unable to garner the energy to stand, Gwen dragged her body to his side with her arms, cupping his head where the wraith had struck him. Her hand came away bloody and shaky, and the sight of the red brown liquid on her skin was horrifying to her. "Oh my God." _Fuck, fuck, fuck_... _think, Gwen, think!_ Her thoughts were sluggish, as if the wraith's presence had zapped her brain and her body's processes somehow. She watched, dazed, as the nine cowled figures continued to stalk Merry, Pippin, and Frodo, who were backing steadily away. It seemed in those moments that they were all waiting for the hammer to drop and for the fear-inducing creatures to end their lives for good. _We are going to die._

Sam's blood dripped steadily onto the stone beneath them; the amount of it staining the grey around them was worrying. He tried to move, but Gwen held him to her as best as she could, soothing him with murmuring sounds. His eyes rolled up into his head, freaking her out. Her mind was quickening, but she was so very exhausted. "Shit." Gwen suspected he had a concussion, if not worse. Desperately, Gwen slapped at his face until his eyes opened again, to look sightlessly above her. She looked at Sam sternly, trying to convey the seriousness of her command. "Stay awake," she ordered harshly, "Do you hear me, Sam?" She wasn't sure he could. He was bleeding badly, and seemed to be in and out of consciousness. The desperation in her was mounting until she thought she would scream with it. _I don't want to die like this._

"Come _on_ , Strider!" she gasped, praying that at any moment he would rush in and save them. Curiously none of the wraiths moved to kill either of them in their most vulnerable moments, instead gliding past them completely in favor of the others. They didn't want either of them, but seemed doggedly determined to get to Frodo. Gwen didn't understand how a hobbit from the Shire would be useful to them, Frodo least of all. Merry and Pippin grouped together in front of Frodo but were thrown aside like dolls, leaving the single hobbit alone before the looming enemy. _What do they want with him?_

A single darkly-shrouded wraith, the biggest and most malicious, closed the distance between himself and the hobbit; Frodo backpedaled and drew his sword, but Gwen knew the effort was futile. Sam had passed out beneath her, and didn't seem to be waking. _Damn you, Strider_ , _where the_ hell _are you?_ Gwen looked back at Frodo, horrified to discover his spot empty. The hobbit had disappeared, again. _What the fuck?_ In that moment, the incident in the inn came back to Gwen. How Frodo had fallen and disappeared into thin air, only to reappear as he was being hauled up the stairs by Strider. _But how?_ None of it made any sense to her. She cried out, despairing when the Witch-King pulled out his dagger. Could he see Frodo even as she could not? _Do something, Gwen! Anything!_

Her little blade felt heavy in her hand, a weight previously unknown to her. Using every bit of the strength she had remaining, Gwen forced herself up and onto her feet, gripping the dagger for her life. With a hoarse cry that turned all attention save the Witch-King's toward her, she flung herself onto the wraith, trying to stab him with her dagger. It was like holding on to a live wire crossed with frost, and her body seized even as she clutched the strangely corporeal form to her own. Cold froze her marrow – and touching this creature sent blackness flickering into her gaze. She gasped for breath that barely came, and brought the blade in her hand into the wraith's abdomen. It shrieked in anger as it's attention to Frodo was entire broken, and it sought to dislodge her from it's back. _Don't pass out,_ Gwen willed herself to be strong, even as unconsciousness she stabbed at him, her body convulsed with seizures, and she screamed as pain electrified her body's nerves. Even as she blacked out, he tossed her away almost effortlessly, and turned back to Frodo, who only he and the other wraiths could see. Her attack had given him pause, though. It no longer moved with the same stalking confidence.

Consciousness returned to her again as two things happened simultaneously: A battle-cry rent the air as Strider attacked the wraiths, swinging a burning torch menacingly, and Frodo reappeared with a hoarse cry of agony, a glistening gold ring obvious in his limp hand. A dark wound blossomed on his left shoulder; echoing the black malevolence she felt emanating from the ring. _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what is that? This world keeps getting weirder and weirder._ He _had_ been stabbed by the Witch-King, that much she was able to work out. She swallowed heavily, clutching her head when it throbbed bitterly.

Dual relief at Strider's appearance and fear for Frodo bloomed in her chest. Gwen lay crippled along the destroyed wall of the tower, watching as Merry crawled to Frodo, trying protect him with his body should a wraith turn its attention back to the hobbit. Pippin appeared in her vision as he knelt down at her side. "You're the bravest woman I've ever met, Gwen," He breathed heavily, sobbing, but sounded awed. Frodo lay writhing in agony on the floor, surrounded by the others. Sam, now conscious, clutched his friend's hand, ignoring the blood that trickled down his face.

"Help me up, please," she breathed, and together with Pippin's aid she was able to get to Frodo, where she nearly crumpled at his side. It was pathetic how weak she was. Gwen slid her hands under Frodo's head, hoping to ease his pain in any way she could. Helplessness swamped her as he moaned in agony, and the battle with the wraiths was brought into stark relief in the moments they lay there. The hobbit was not aware of them. She looked up, glancing between Frodo's maimed body and the battle Strider fought. He seemed to be winning. _I hope he's winning, anyway._

Strider in battle was a sight to behold, and she struggled to process it. He moved fluidly, like a dancer possessing almost inhuman grace, as he fought back the otherworldly evil that threatened Frodo. The steel of his blade gleamed against the flame of the torch he bore, and he bared his teeth fiercely, clearly caught up in the fight. He used the fire as a deterrent, and was easily able to catch the tattered robes the wraiths wore with the flames. They became moving torches themselves, one by one. Wraiths hated fire, apparently, and more quickly than they had come, the dark servants fled the tower like beacons in the night.

* * *

 _Please review._


	7. An Unexpected Encounter

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _This should be my last update for this week. See you Tuesday!_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Six: An Unexpected Encounter**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Time seemed to slow dramatically in the long moments following the wraiths' departure from the tower. Frodo lay sweating and panting on the rough, dirty stone – obviously in a serious amount of pain. His cries tore at Gwen's hammering heart, and she was desperate to help him. Not bothering to wait for Strider, she ripped the blackened shirt he wore, trying to see the wound he had earned more clearly. At the sight of the black wound puncturing his shoulder, Gwen recoiled in shock and dismay. She had seen that wound before - on herself. _No fucking way._ She reeled at the sight of that awfully familiar wound. Faint, dark lines had already grown away from Frodo's wound like an infection spreading malevolently through his shoulder, just like hers had been; she had the pictures to prove it. Or rather, she _had_ had the pictures to prove it.

Evil radiated from the deep gouge, quickly making her stomach feel ill. _This is not good._ Her own wounds had taken months to heal, and that was only after she had woken from the week-long coma it had put her in first. "Strider." Her voice was hoarse and tremulous with emotion - fear for Frodo. The wound she had had nearly killed her, and that was with all the modern conveniences of her world. Surely here in Middle Earth it meant death. The Ranger stood a short ways away, unmoving and lost, as if dazed by the short, fierce battle he had waged and won.

"He's...been hurt," Gwen gasped out, still reeling from the coincidences that their night on the ancient watchtower had revealed. There had to be an explanation for how all of this had come to be, she just wasn't able to think about it clearly at the moment. Sam and the other hobbits were huddled protectively around their kinsman, weeping softly and talking amongst themselves. Sam was openly distraught, and it was clear he thought Frodo would die just the same as she did. "Strider! Help him, please!" he cried. His voice carried a note of hysteria Gwen had never heard from him, and the sound made her heart clench. _He really loves Frodo._

Strider was jolted from his stupor by Sam's cries, and with a look of anguish clear across his features, rushed to the hobbits; he knelt at Frodo's side, ignoring them all and grimly taking in the wound. Gwen watched him keenly, seeing the distress and concern in the man's face. "I've seen a wound like this before, Strider," she said, coughing when her voice cracked and shook weakly. Catching sight of the broken blade on the ground beside Frodo, the Ranger picked it up only to hiss in pain, and drop it suddenly.

His gaze clashed with hers, dismissive of her. "That's impossible," he intoned grimly. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul-blade – a weapon of Mordor. You claim to be not of this land, and you have said such things as these do not exist there." His eyes hardened. "Have you lied?" She recoiled instantly, recognizing the constant suspicion in his gaze once more. It would seem that she might never gain his trust.

"I haven't lied," Gwen insisted, "I'm telling you the truth. I can't explain _how_ this has happened, but Frodo has the same wound as I do." In fact, the damn scar was throbbing fiercely now, reminding her quite clearly that it was there. It didn't make any sense to Gwen, either, that a wraith's attack would yield the same wound in Frodo as a human's attack did to her on Earth. But she remembered what it looked like – the police had taken pictures of the slashes and the single puncture wound beneath her breast. All were blackened and poisoned-looking, though less so than Frodo's. Gwen shook her head, trying to remove the images. "I know it sounds crazy, Strider," she began, "But you have to start trusting me at some point. I'm telling you the truth."

When the mistrust lingered in his eyes, and it looked as though he would insist it was a lie, Gwen began to untie her jerkin. She all but ripped it from her arms before unbuttoning the looser blouse beneath. The hobbits, who had listened in shock at their argument over Frodo, gasped in shock as she bared her skin to them shamelessly. Gwen stared defiantly at Strider, her shirt gaping open almost to obscenity, revealing the dark, purple scars on her flattened stomach. Her hands trembled, and not from cold. The Ranger recoiled, giving her a strange look tinged with horror and awe. When Gwen saw the acceptance of the truth in his eyes, she began to button up her blouse once more. "It nearly killed me, Strider. Something about the blade is poison." For the first time since their meeting in Bree, Strider looked at her without doubt in his eyes. Like an equal.

He nodded stiffly at her words. "Yes, it is," he said, his gaze lingered on the hilt of the blade which had disappeared in his hand before returning to her face. "We cannot linger here; we will discuss this later. Frodo needs aid." To Gwen, his words sounded ominous. Before anyone could reply, Strider bent and picked up the moaning, delirious Frodo from the ground, cradling him like a child in his muscular arms. He pierced Gwen with his gray eyes, and at once she felt more steady, more in control of her spinning thoughts and emotions, and of her rolling, empty stomach. Frodo was hurt, but Strider could fix it. Would fix it. _I have to trust in that._ "He needs help I cannot give him - elvish medicine." Gasping at his admission, Gwen glanced down at the sweating, swarthy hobbit in his arms. _He'll be dead before we reach the elves!_

Turning, Strider swiftly descended the tower's ruin, followed closely by Gwen and the others. Without bothering to pack anything, he swept Frodo onto Bill, Sam's pony, effortlessly. Frodo was already so weak that he would have fallen right off had Strider not held him onto the horse. He motioned to Gwen to mount up, and despite her not knowing how to ride, she did as he bid without question. She struggled with mounting due to her short height, but using Strider's lean arm to steady her helped. The hobbits followed them, stunned, tear tracks streaking their dirty faces.

Strider's grey gaze captured her eyes and held them solidly. "We must make all haste to Rivendell," he declared. His words were daunting – they were days from the elven realm. _But he can't help him._ _What if Frodo dies before we reach Rivendell?_ It would be a tragedy. Gwen remembered how shocked everyone was when she woke up after her attack, as if it was expected that she would die. As she understood it, she had been in a sort of dreaming coma for days before they'd found the shard of the knife near her heart and removed it. For days beyond that, the black wounds upon her had festered despite all intervention, until, at last, they began to heal. She clutched Frodo's body in her hands, trying desperately to keep him upright in the saddle as her abdomen clenched painfully. Frodo was in grave danger, indeed, if her own experience was anything to go by.

"Lord Elrond will have seen this happen," Strider began earnestly, "and he will send a rider to meet us." Gwen wondered what the Ranger meant by the elf being able to 'see' what had happened to them. Strider laid his hands on the hobbits, trying to give them a moment's comfort, but Gwen was too wrapped up in the chaos of what had happened to listen closely. She was exhausted and bone sore, already wanting to sleep. It was a blessing that Strider had allowed her to ride instead of walk. Taking hold of Bill's reins, Strider pulled the horse into action, leaving the hobbits to follow as best they could over the rough terrain. The pace he set was grueling, but they covered ground quickly even with the dark of night slowing them down. The Nazgûl were still out there, regrouping and preparing to strike again; Gwen could feel it.

She knew in her bones they would not survive another concentrated attack. Tremors shook her body at the thought of facing those giant, evil creatures once more – especially the one who brought back so many terrible memories. Shuddering, she recalled the flash of the wraith's eyes. Why would that one creature remind her so strongly of the random attack she had suffered back home? She lost that train of thought time after time, but that was the million-dollar question she kept coming back to over and over. And that that attack would be so very similar to Frodo's own. None of it made any sense - after all, Middle Earth and her world were two separate worlds entirely.

Hours passed. The wraiths had to be pursuing them by now. Gwen felt as if the noose was tightening around their necks even as they raced toward the Mitheithe River, still some six days from Rivendell. _Why Frodo? What do they want with this little hobbit?_ So many questions lingered, but Gwen knew if she asked Strider they would go unanswered. Night turned to day, and day to night, over and over. Time passed at a beggar's pace until at last the wide, clear river was behind them.

Grimly, they all could only helplessly watch as Frodo's condition grew steadily worse, and with its deterioration, Gwen's panic increased, until she was thrumming with nerves, with rising temper, with fear. _We aren't going fast enough!_ Something vile was feeding these emotions in her, and she was helpless to stop it from affecting her. She had thought that the malevolence of the wraiths would go with them when they fled, but it clearly had not. Something among them was changing her, too. When they reached the cover of trees and Strider bid they stop for food and a few hours' rest, Gwen lost control of her rising fury completely. She dismounted from the pony, trying not to tremble in anger. Sam was left to guide Frodo to the ground, where he writhed and moaned even in his unconsciousness.

"Frodo is going to _die_ , and you want to eat? To sleep?" She raged, getting very close into the Ranger's space and uncaring that their bodies brushed against one another. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She spat. "We have to keep going!" Sam, Merry and Pippin looked aghast at her unusual behavior, as it was fairly obvious they were very hungry and needed to stop; even Gwen was wobbling with the effort it took to remain upright. Her own stomach protested the lack of food in the last day, but still she raged at the man. Strider stared at her with growing ire himself, and he tried to speak, but Gwen cut him off. _What the hell is wrong with_ you, _Gwendolyn?_ Her mother's voice echoed in her head, reprovingly, cutting past the consuming rage and fury in her mind. The Gwen she was never spoke to others this way, not even at her angriest moments.

Still, she couldn't stop the words from spewing forth. "We are six days from Rivendell! He'll never make it at this rate!"

Gwen tried to take a step toward Strider aggressively, but her legs, cramped and sore from riding so long, gave out beneath her. She would have tumbled to the ground were it not for the Ranger's lightening fast reflexes. He caught hold of her smaller form and lowered her gently to the ground. A bolt of ghostly pain hit her in the chest as Frodo cried out in agony. It was a strangled sound. The jolt of the fall coupled with Strider's firm touch instantly dispelled her indignant anger, leaving her drained and weary. She stared up at Strider's dirty face, then replayed her unthinking words back in her head, closing her eyes in distress. _What have I done?_

Strider stood over her wordlessly, and Gwen cupped her head as it pounded in response to her anguish. "I...Strider," she began as he turned away from her. He did not turn back, but stopped. "I..I'm sorry!" She gasped, tears pooling in her eyes in upset. "I don't know what came over me. It was as if another person was speaking." A heartbeat passed in silence. He shifted to look at her, pausing, as if to consider her words. After a few moments more, he nodded, accepting her apology.

"I don't think you were to blame," he replied, voice weary and thick with his own burdens. "A dark presence is with us here. More than just whatever lingers in Frodo." He started at Frodo, eyes almost unseeing. "The Ring has a darker power than I realized," he muttered under his breath, seemingly unaware that she still listened to him. _So this whole insane journey has something to do with that golden ring,_ she realized. "That ring..." she began, pausing to consider her words. "It made Frodo disappear, once in the inn in Bree, and again with the wraiths before you arrived." Strider nodded. "The ring is evil, as evil as the wraiths."

So here was the missing link. The reason why the wraith's were so keen on getting to Frodo. He had this ring, and they wanted it. Gwen understood a little better what was going on, but there were still so many questions. Still, she was more concerned with Frodo's survival than worrying about the Ring and the wraiths now. Strider's words about the evil inside Frodo made Gwen remember something very important. She grasped Strider's arm to gain his attention quickly, forcing him to turn towards her once more.

"With my wound," she started, a little tremulous, "There... there was a piece of the blade inside me, near my heart, that kept me weak and unable to heal somehow. It may be the same with Frodo. Is that what you meant by the evil within him?" Everyone's eyes being on her made her nervous and unsure. Strider placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. This crisis, it seemed, had created a higher level of comfort between them than existed before, and allowed them to touch one another more freely. What Gwen didn't realize was that the fear in her big green eyes was tugging at his heart.

"I do not know, my lady," he replied gently. "Even if it is the same, as you suggest, we can do nothing for him here." He squatted on his thighs strongly, trying to get a small fire going to warm them. The wetness of the wood prevented it, and he gave up after a few minutes. He glanced up at her tense face from his vantage. "We all worry for Frodo, Gwen, but the shadow will not take him," he said determinedly. Strider passed around a meager supper quickly, bidding them to eat with all haste. With that cold meal heavy on their stomachs, the group began moving again quickly, each of them instinctively knowing Frodo had very little time to spare. The undercurrent of negative energy grew stronger as time went on, but now that Gwen was aware of it and it's power, the malevolence had little hold on her.

Still, the natural fear for Frodo that she felt was increased tenfold because of the strange energy, until she felt she was being eaten alive by it. That she managed to keep walking was a miracle, as she felt each step she would collapse into helpless tears. They traversed the wooded area carefully, this time with Strider on the horse with Frodo. The hobbit took a severe turn for the worse an hour or so later, writhing so much that Strider could barely keep him seated in front of him. Forced to stop, the Ranger gently placed the sick hobbit on the ground near some giant stone figures, where he lay silent for a moment before crying out in agony. Trying to distract herself from the piteous sight, Gwen studied the roughly carved statues, nothing their blunted, unattractive features. _Are those...trolls?_ Their stone faces were hideous.

She didn't have time to study them in real detail, as Frodo gained her attention once more as he gasped aloud, the sound close to a death knell. It was as if he could not get enough air. The ominous rattle of the air in his lungs told her more about his condition that anything else did. _He is close to death._ Gwen didn't speak her mind, but only watched with anguished eyes, silent. Her body trembled slightly, and she closed her cloak around her for warmth and comfort. Sam, who cupped Frodo's head in his lap and gripped his hand firmly, as if anchoring him to the very earth, moaned out, "He's growing cold!"

Strider sank to his knees beside them, distress plain on his features.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin was as softly spoken as a child, tears clogging his throat. Merry looked on, and both had fear and anguish so clear in their eyes. Gwen's heart ached at their anguish, at the pain she could see plainly written on their features. _This is an impossible situation._

"He's passing into the shadow realm," came the answer. "He'll soon be a wraith." Strider sounded grim, and tired. Gwen stared at him, horrified at the news. _How is that even possible?!_ Nothing made any sense to her – her aching body and tired mind were on overload, unable to process anything completely. As if orchestrated, the inhuman shriek of the Nazgûl reached them in that moment, very close. The sound sent an electric jolt of fear through her. Strider jumped up, sword in hand, his eyes alertly scanning the darkened forest as Frodo gasped and moaned. He turned his gaze to the hobbits. "Sam!" The hobbit looked at him, startled. "Do you know the athelas plant?" Sam looked confused. "You would know it as kingsfoil, perhaps."

Sam gently removed Frodo from his lap and stood, nodding. "Kingsfoil, aye. That's a weed."

"It may help to slow the poison that is killing him. Hurry!" Sam took off like a shot, searching for the plant Strider needed. As they waited for Sam to return, night sounds grew loud, and the call of a bird filled the air. Strider's head came up like a deer scenting danger, but there was no trace of violence or wariness in his face. He looked instead overjoyed, raising his hands to make the sound himself, echoing the first. Realization slammed into Gwen. _Of course! Someone's out there! Someone who can help Frodo?_

In the next moment, the singularly most beautiful man Gwen had ever seen appeared between the trees, pulling a large white steed behind him. His appearance caused all except for Frodo and Strider to jump a little in surprise. His inhumanly beautiful appearance made Gwen more than a little self conscious of her state of uncleanliness. The man was built like a swimmer - all lean, long muscle and fluid grace. He was extremely tall, and he stood inches above even Strider's height. His narrow, handsome face was haloed by white-blond hair braided intricately at his temples and streamed like silk down his back. There was something otherworldly about this man's beauty. With a jolt, Gwen realized that this must be an elf. _No way that guy's a human!_

He clutched a long, wickedly sharp blade and a bow and quiver were strapped to his broad shoulders. He was clearly a warrior. It was obvious the man was a welcome sight. Strider greeted him as a friend, clasping the man's arm with his own. " _Mellonin_ , it is _very_ good to see you," he exclaimed in relief. The man - no, elf - nodded, happiness flickering over his features before turning his eyes to Frodo and the other hobbits with solemn calmness. It seemed to Gwen that he was seeing exactly what he expected amongst them, and remembered Strider's words about the elves 'seeing' what had happened to Frodo. It seemed that this was what he meant; they had seen what had happened and sent aid. Gwen was grateful for this strange magical power of the elves, especially given that the wraiths were so close again.

When his eyes came to meet her own, Gwen's breath was knocked from her chest by the force of his gaze. His blue eyes were not just blue, but like twinkling stars of blue, fathomless, and ancient; it felt as though he could see straight into her soul. They flickered momentarily before his gaze jumped away from her to Frodo, and his serious face turned grim. He turned his attention back to Strider, and Gwen felt the loss of his eyes on her acutely. Her reaction to the man made her blush and curse herself. _What the hell is wrong with you, Gwendolyn Carrick?_ It was as if her hormones were on overdrive lately.

"He's an elf!" Merry breathed softly, and Gwen finally saw proof as he turned away. He had finely-pointed ears, and moved with more deadly grace than even the best dancer could ever hope to. _So that's what an elf looks like. Nothing like the Keebler elves, then,_ she thought wryly. He bent fluidly to kneel at Frodo's side, inspecting him and his wound closely. "He is fading," the elf murmured gently in a tinkling, otherworldly voice. It was a pleasant, melodic tenor.

Though his words were bleak, the thread of sound she heard was a healing balm on her soul, and it drove away the residual fear in her. Elves were powerful indeed if they had that much innate power over living things. It surely couldn't be just her he enraptured with his eyes and his voice. Looking at Merry and the other hobbits, she could see that they, too, were ensnared and enthralled. The elf paused over Frodo before straightening to full height once more. "We must get him to Lord Elrond," he declared firmly at last, "He is beyond my skill to heal." Sam returned with the kingsfoil in that moment, looking a bit startled by the tall man - no, elf - that had not been there before. Strider took the plant from him, chewed a piece, placing the bits of kingsfoil into Frodo's wound, making Gwen cringe. Frodo moaned as it touched his open flesh. _That's disgusting. Definitely not modern medicine_

The elf bent over Frodo again, beside Strider, speaking lowly to the hobbit. "Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan na galad." When he spoke, the language on his tongue seemed like music gliding from his tongue and that gorgeous tenor carried it melodically to her ears. Gwen was quite positive she might be in love with this creature. With a jolt, Gwen realized she may have just stumbled on to natural selection in Middle Earth. Did all elves have the same power to enthrall others? Surely it was a mechanism built over a long time. _You're a weirdo, Gwen._ She had always enjoyed Biology, though. Shaking her head internally to rid herself of such random, silly thoughts, Gwen returned her attention to the elf. He was silent for a moment, his hand to Frodo's chest as if measuring his heartbeat. At last he spoke again, eyes serious.

"There are five wraiths behind you," he said. "Where the other four are, I do not know. Andelu i ven, Estel." He looked up at the ranger from his squat position. On either side of her, Pippin and Merry whispered back and forth.

"What's he saying, Merry?" The stouter hobbit shrugged. The only thing Gwen knew was that it was Sindarin, the language of the elves, like Strider had told her in the marshes. The elf stood to his full height, pulling Frodo into his arms, and lingered for a moment, towering over the hobbits and Gwen with the moaning, writhing hobbit within his grasp. Gwen could all but see the poison running beneath his translucent skin. The morgul-blade wound was killing her friend, and time was very short.

"I will take Frodo to Rivendell," the elf declared, moving towards his horse in his gliding way. "Asfaloth will get us there far quicker than you can on foot." Strider nodded, much to the others' dismay. "What are you doing?" Sam cried out as the elf mounted smoothly with Frodo in his arms. Gwen genuinely was surprised by the ease with which he handled such a feat. Worry for Frodo kept her from agreeing with Sam, though she understood his own concern. "Those wraiths are still out there!" Sam's bravery and loyalty to Frodo was admirable, but Gwen understood why it was necessary to let this stranger take Frodo onward.

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He is dying, Sam," she said gently. "Without this man's..." she paused, amending her statement. "Without this elf's help, he'll not make it. I know it is hard to allow, but Strider wouldn't let it happen if he wasn't trustworthy." Strider nodded gravely. "Strider protected Frodo just as you did," she continued, "as all of you did. Trust him now."

"She is right, Master Hobbit," Strider agreed. "You have my word, Glorfindel will allow no harm to come to your friend." The elf in question gazed at her without an expression on his face that she could read. It amazed her how unfathomable his eyes were... as if he had lived lifetimes, had seen and done so much to shape his character. _He probably has._ She was obsessing about the elf, and that was plain silly. Gwen dropped to her knees to hug the hobbits to her, trying to convey comfort where precious little could be had. "Have faith..." she urged them softly, "Frodo has a strong will. That evil thing he carries proves it to me, because I know I couldn't do what he did on the tower."

Sam nodded into her shoulder, breathing deeply, shakily, to calm his fears, his emotions. "You're right," he murmured after a moment. "Of course you're right, my lady." he breathed. The beautiful elf stared down at the five of them, his eyes glittering like blue-gray diamonds. Every time she met his gaze, Gwen lost her breath; she was simple _taken_ by his otherworldly beauty. Instinctively, Gwen placed her hand on her abdomen protectively, and she could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smirk on the handsome elf's face before he turned his mount and broke their connection.

"Ride hard." Strider bid him, and moved back from the horse. Glorfindel spoke something in Elvish, before spurring the beast onward and away from the group. Worry creased her brows as she stared in the direction they had gone. Gwen released a breath, trying force the elf from her mind, but his eyes stayed within view. She shared a look with Strider, and found that he was just as unreadable as the elf had been. _Well that was unexpected,_ she thought with wonder.

 _My first elf._

* * *

 _Mellonin_ : My friend

 _Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan na galad_ : Hear my voice. Come back to the light.

 _Andelu i ven_ : The road is too dangerous.

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 _Please review!_


	8. The Stranger

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Thank you to all who have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! It's nice to know that some of my old readers are still out there, and that I've got some new ones, too! Voyanisen, it's lovely to see you! I hope you continue to enjoy the edits!_

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 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Seven: The Stranger**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _1 year ago - California_

Summer sweltered in California. Sweat rolled despite it being early evening.

"Gwendolyn! Come help me, please, dear," the lovely, clear voice rang out, breaking the silent peace of the moment. "The dinner crowd's showing up early!" Gwen sat on the stone back steps of the soup kitchen and food pantry her mother ran, massaging her feet wearily. Already she had been at work with her mother since early that morning, and of course, the day was not yet over, though her body all but begged for relief. Spending all day in a soup kitchen was surprisingly grueling work. Scrubbing dishes, hauling heavy loads of food here and there, setting the tables, cleaning and scrubbing the floors to pristine shine. The sheer number of things to be done never seemed to end, and at 16, all Gwen wanted to do was be done with all of it and doing something fun with Jessie on the beach. _But_ , this was her punishment for getting into a fight on the last day of school with the captain of the football team last year, not including tutoring summer school students.

Sighing, she tried to look at the bright side. In all honesty, Gwen really didn't mind either of the jobs – she was just plain tired at the moment.

Knowing her mother wouldn't ask her twice, Gwen hauled herself up with a sigh, groaning when her feet ached painfully under her slight weight. "Coming, momma," she called, knowing the next few hours would be hell on her emotions and on her feet. The dinner rush at The Pantry was always the worst part of their day – homeless men and women came in droves to see if they had a meal to spare. There would be too many to feed. As much as her mother hated turning people away when they needed food, she had insisted tonight that they would reach their capacity limit of 250 people. Per city code, Gwen knew, her mother could allow no more than that number inside. Therefore, they would all be forced to turn away hungry people. It was always very hard to do.

With a soft sigh, Gwen turned the doorknob on the white-painted door and entered the kitchen, where Gordon, a former U.S. Marine who had been homeless at one point himself, was cooking up the night's meal of grilled rosemary chicken, roasted potatoes, green beans, and yeast rolls. Gordon was a true genius in the kitchen, and her mother was lucky to have him – though he would say he was lucky to have her. Gwen smiled briefly at the thought. _We all are._ Her mother's work inspired her to be the best person she could be to everyone she met, and through her example, Gwen had learned acceptance of and compassion for all people.

She had also seen her mother do more with less than any other person. Every person who worked at the pantry relied on her steadfast nature and sensible head, as well as her giving heart. Gwen especially, relied on her mother; discounting her father completely, were it not for her mother, Gwen may never have learned compassion or kindness at all. With a nod and a smile for Gordon, Gwen stepped past the massive ovens and into the hallway.

Serena Carrick was in her office, quickly going through her books and lists of customers she kept so meticulously, looking rather harried and put upon. Upon seeing her daughter, however, she smiled brightly. "Ah, Gwendolyn, there you are! You are always so quick," she winked. Her mother shoved a ream of papers into her arms. "Here are the customer lists for tonight. Plate charge is two bucks, unless they are on my special list," she motioned absently at the list Gwen now held.

She nodded, though it was obvious her mother wouldn't notice; something was preoccupying her tonight.

Gwen know many, _many_ of the people outside would be on her mother's special _free meal_ list. Those that weren't would be paying two dollars for a plate of food, or, if they preferred, eight dollars would pay for a pre-assembled box of food containing necessary food staples like cans of vegetables and boxes of rice to be cooked at home.

"Check _thoroughly_ ," her mother cautioned, looking up from her ledgers to give Gwen a smile. Gwen returned the expression, happy at least that her work at The Pantry made her mother happy. Wordlessly, she turned to the front door, where a line of people waited not-so-patiently. A table and deposit box sat beside the door waiting for her.

The minute Gwen took her seat at the door, the flood of hungry bodies began. For the next half hour, Gwen checked lists, collected money, and kept an eye on the capacity of the building, until, at last, she was forced to turn away those at the end of the line. As her mother said, city code was city code.

With remorse and a strange pang of guilt, Gwen stood at the door preparing to turn the remaining needy away, all 5'2 inches of herself, staring down into the hungry faces of those left outside.

"I'm sorry...but, there's no room left in the building for meals tonight. We're full." Grubby hands still tried to shove dollars into her own, and pleading eyes made her feel terrible, but even their money couldn't make more food or the building more spacious, and her mother always, _always_ , kept her limits. It was how she had managed to keep The Pantry running for so long. Still, Gwen _really_ hated to turn the poor folks away.

"We do have pre-assembled boxes of food that you can purchase for eight dollars," she reminded them. Unfortunately most of the crowd couldn't afford even that much, and even fewer had the facilities to prepare it.

Moans and complaints rose up bitterly from the crowd for a moment, but after a hard moment they seemed to understand the futility of even that gesture and began to disperse at last. A few lucky enough to have extra money stayed behind to count their change and buy the boxes of food. After the last woman passed Gwen into the building, she sighed in relief. The worst was over.

As Gwen totaled up the money her mother had earned tonight, a pair of shiny, black shoes appeared in the doorway. Before she had time to look up at the newcomer, a deep, sensual voice pulled her from her counting altogether.

"Excuse me, is this The Pantry?" Gwen raised her head from her work to find a man standing before her – a very tall, _enthralling_ man.

A very _beautiful_ man.

Agape, Gwen stared. He was at least a foot taller than she was, and had the most perfect form and face she'd ever seen. Muscle rippled and bulged, and fine blonde hair waved over his broad shoulders. What was most striking about this man, however, was his eyes. They were an unusual sherry red color. How could she describe him in terms other than _gorgeous_ or _sinful_? To do so would not do this man justice at all.

It took her a moment to notice anything beyond his good looks. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit and tie – most certainly not the usual clientele to come through the doors of The Pantry. Gwen realized she was staring and shook herself hastily, blushing. "Yes...ahem, yes, this is The Pantry. What can I do for you?" _I wanna do something, that's for sure...yum._ Since when had her hormones raged so strongly? His deep voice pulled her from her racy thoughts, and he flashed her a smile that had her melting. "You can, in fact, do something for me, my dear. My name is Simon Laundeu, and I'd like to speak with the owner of this establishment, if you would be so kind as to point me in his or her direction."

His teeth were so white, they distracted her from his words.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, giving him a tentative, open smile. "Oh! Okay, that would be my mother, Serena Carrick. Right this way." She led him into the back, to her mother's office, all the while feeling like his eyes were boring a hole in her head. When they arrived, she knocked on the door and told her mother about the stranger, and when he passed her, he bowed towards her minutely with a beautiful smile.

The sight made her giddy with excitement.

 _Wow. Who'd have thought I'd meet a guy like him in The Pantry?_

* * *

The man called Simon Landeu was not a man at all – not really. _Certainly not anymore._ That didn't mean he didn't look like one, however. He was well aware of what foolish mortal eyes wanted to see when they looked at him, and it was wholly beautiful to behold. It wasn't anything close to his true visage, but in this world secrecy was better than open chaos.

At first it had not bothered him to wear such a disguise. Such things were necessary in the service of his master. It disgusted him, though, how easily mankind could be fooled by appearances and pretty words alone.

 _They are weak. Not worthy of life at all._ He wanted to hiss and spit at them and rend the entire species to bits, to give him some measure of satisfaction even in his failures.

The Necromancer would be _most_ displeased to learn that this world – Earth – was much less powerful than that one in which he inhabited. It was true, the people would fall easily to his lord's rule if he so chose to invade these lands, but they were _so_ very weak indeed. Hardly worth the effort such an invasion would take.

Much had been wasted already in merely arriving in this world. He'd spent hundreds of years on this plane, watching the weak-minded humans scurry about their pitiful, broken lives, waiting for the chance to return to a better world. A world that when compared to that of Earth, contained almost entertaining power.

He'd known almost from the beginning _this_ world was not good enough for his lord.

The Necromancer would be displeased also at his late return. They had miscalculated before, assuming the fold in time would be accessible in the same manner on Earth as it is in Middle Earth – but they were wrong, he saw that quite clearly now. Thus, he had been delayed in returning home, and had been nearly completely cut off from Middle Earth entirely as the years passed. He knew the way it would take to return; he needed energy – _raw,_ black, dark energy – and only once he had enough of it could he go home. He was close to his goal, and he counted _that_ as a very good thing.

There was one thing about this world to enjoy, he supposed, and that was the sheer amount of fear, depravity, and hatred that existed among its peoples. Raw and open emotion that would fuel his passage through the fold. He'd stored much of this energy over the years, while he had been living among the rabble of this land. Almost enough.

He was so close – so _very_ close. But no longer could he harness the energy from just emotion – no, it would not be enough. He needed light, goodness, so that he could crush it, _kill_ it and siphon it away, leaving only the sludge of evil behind. A suitable source of this goodness was close – he could feel the gentle, light touch of her soul, and he wanted so badly to crush it, destroy it, and harness it into power he could use.

Black energy.

* * *

 _Please review._


	9. Careworn

_**Disclaimer**_ _ **:**_ _See Prologue. Gwen is mine._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Eight: Careworn**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _Present Day_

Her body still ached.

Gwen clung to that first, waking thought as she woke in unfamiliar surroundings. She lay comfortably in an intricately-wrought wooden-framed bed, encased in soft sheets that had a silken quality about them. Her fingertips roved the material searchingly, trying to place what material it might be. Certainly not cotton, but silk and suede were not quite right either. Perhaps it was some elvish creation? Gwen enjoyed the feeling of the cool sheets on her skin for a few moments more, having not had such a pleasant wake-up in many, many days. It had been all but impossible to sleep for worry and stress for Frodo and the dangers they all faced on the road.

Her mind, it seemed, had needed sleep more than her body had in those days, because she struggled to remember the finer details of those last days of her journey, and those leading into the valley of the elves' domain. The sixteen harrowing, stressful days she and Strider and the hobbits had spent in the wilds following Frodo's stabbing and subsequent retrieval by an elf named Glorfindel had taken their toll on her in both physical and mental ways, leaving what remained of Gwen's vivaciousness shrunken and horrified by all that had been seen and done. She had gone slightly crazy in those last days, and, was, at this point, an empty vessel waiting to be refilled with energy and rest. With food. With peace and quiet, if she was lucky. And most importantly, with information.

Her waking mind raced with questions and thoughts. Gwen was desperate to know first if Frodo was alive, and then (almost as important as Frodo's safety), if Jessie had been found or seen or if she had even been spoken of in passing. Even after that, Gwen wanted to know how to go home. The journey from Bree to Rivendell had given Gwen a wealth of experiences, had tested her in ways her life on Earth may never do, and had resolved within her than ever that Middle Earth was not for her - what with their wraiths, and magical, evil knives that spread disease within the soul. And midges. She couldn't forget the midges.

 _No, I am definitely more suited to California._

Her endurance and strength had been pushed to the edge of believability, and very nearly into a level of insanity that disturbed her. When at last she had walked through the gates of Rivendell two days ago following Strider and the other hobbits, she barely had the will or even the desire to place her feet in front of one another. She had noticed none of the beauty within the elven halls, though there was much to be found, she was sure, from all Sam had spoken about them. Stranger for Gwen still, she had no desire for food, nor for a hot bath, though she knew she needed both desperately. She had wanted only sleep. Deep, abiding sleep - that she hoped with every thought would send her home again.

She had dreamed terrible dreams at first, though. Of her attacker's face and form twined with that of the wraiths, as if melded together, of watching Frodo writhe and moan in pain from the wound of the morgul-blade, and feeling a knife within her own body. The stress of hurried travel coupled with the dangers their group had seen, up close, had allowed her personally battled demons to go free and tear at her composure and will to endure through hardships. Loathe has she may be to admit it, even to herself, but she was in a fragile place. Gwen ran her hands through the sheets for comfort as the vividness of her dreams and sleeping impressions remained at the forefront of her mind.

It wasn't all bad, though. Some things, she assumed, had not been dreams at all. Gwen vaguely could recall an elven woman, (or perhaps it was Strider, as she got the impression he had been around at the same time, even if she couldn't precisely recall clearly), had forced a bitter concoction down her throat, one that sent her into deeper, calming, _healing_ sleep. Though not awake, she had heard voices echoing from somewhere far off through her newly spotless dreams.

Strider's, and two others that were unrecognizable to her. They had been speaking of her, Gwen realized, as the words bubbled up from her unconscious mind to form more clearly in her waking thoughts.

"She is not of this world, that much is obvious to me. Beyond her strange dress, her mannerisms are odd, and though she has clearly been educated, her ignorance of Middle Earth is clear." Strider's deep, calm voice rolled through her mind. A pause of silence. Another voice, husky and aged, and strangely accented, replied, " _If_ she is not of this world, _Estel_ , from whence does she hail?" it questioned, "And how did she come to be with the hobbits? It is certainly concerning that someone so unknown to us would have been so close to Sauron's influence."

"I do not know entirely, Gandalf," Strider replied. "Somewhere unknown to us. And I, too, was deeply troubled by her seeming acquaintance with Frodo and the others. It seems to be entirely by chance. Too much by chance to entirely be so. According to Sam, the hobbits discovered her following a skirted encounter with a wraith along the Great East Road. They believed her at first to be a woman of Bree, but soon learned otherwise, I'm told. She seemed overwrought to discover where she was, in fact, and determined to return home."

Disgust filled Strider's voice, turning it hard and flinty. "The end of the journey nearly destroyed her nerves altogether. I should never have allowed her to come with us. The Ring called out to her, Gandalf, influenced her." A longer silence followed his declaration.

"And did she answer?" This voice, more fluidly smooth and deep than the others, asked quietly. The soft rustle of fabric whispered of movement, and cool hands ghosted along her brow. "It seemed to make her ill," Strider replied. "Very ill and unstable. Her emotions were heightened, and she was difficult in temperament." A pause, then, and Strider continued. "But she showed remarkable resilience to it's call, for a human." More silence.

"More disturbing, Lord Elrond, is _this_." Hands lifted her shirt to just above what was modest, allowing cool air to touch her body. A touch, as gentle as butterfly wings, dusted her skin as her old wounds were inspected. Gwen's hands clenched in the bedclothes as her head throbbed with the effort of remembering such faint impressions of activity and sound, but she knew whatever they saw in her injuries was important. Clearly this conversation she wasn't supposed to have been privy to. It was clear Strider still didn't entirely trust her, which stung a little, and the newcomers had no reason to. But why look at her scars?

Gwen struggled to recall what was said next. She could feel her scars even now, throbbing dully in tempo with her head's aching. They burned with warmth. _Hadn't the air been cold?_ The smooth, cultured voice of Lord Elrond wafted into her consciousness. "This _is_ most unusual," he murmured, and his voice was closer than the others had been. Fingertips traced the purple lines that criss-crossed her torso grotesquely. "This child is no stranger to evil." The hand disappeared. "It's touch leaves a mark. Perhaps this child's mark shows similarities to Frodo's for that reason."

Silence, then, Strider explained. "She fought to defend Frodo against the wraiths. Do you see the marks on her hands? She attacked the Witch King - without concern for her own safety." A note of admiration was etched in his voice. Her shirt was returned to its place around her body, returning her to full modesty.

"Come, she is sleeping peacefully now. She, and you, need rest. We will speak to her as soon as she is cared for."

It made her head hurt to try and remember more than the bits and pieces from her dreams. Gwen forced the faded images and sounds away and began to shift under the sheets, growing a little restless. Every move made some muscle in her body ache, but she had soon shifted her weight into a half sitting position as she moved to climb from the bed. Gwen's eyes roved around the empty chamber, taking in the smooth marble floors, pale walls, and twining, tree-like decor all around. A beaten copper tub squatted in the center of the room, and carved door marked the exit. It pleased her on a girlish level to see a leaf and vine pattern twining up its face. This room was serenely beautiful, and it soothed her nerves just to look at it. Her stomach growled even as her bladder clenched.

Golden light that could only have come from the setting sun cast the silvery green tones of the room into gorgeous relief, soothing Gwen's hurried thoughts and anxieties as she watched the rays dance upon the walls. _There is something about this place. It's so peaceful. Jessie would love it here._ A soft, barely noticeable knock sounded through the room. Gwen had moved into a full sitting position by now, and her legs dangled from the sheets. The dark of her dirt-caked skin shone in stark relief against the creamy smoothness of the bed covers. Gwen went to drag a hand through her hair, and, feeling how grimy it was, thought twice about it. Gwen took a deep breath and coughed at the ripe aroma that met her nose. She smelled...bad. Gag-worthy, almost.

A soft knock echoed at the door. Without waiting for a response, it opened, and a tall, willowy elven woman entered the room carrying heavy pales of steaming water, looking slightly surprised to see Gwen awake. Her face was perfectly oval and pale, and inwardly Gwen cringed at the contrast to her own skin. "How wonderful it is to see you awake!" The woman's perfect face split into a smile that made her features even more fair and lovely. "Good morning, or should I say good evening?" The woman crossed the room to the tub, where she began pour the water inside before setting down her empty pales and turning to Gwen.

"I'm glad you are awake at last, milady. I thought you would never wake up!" Gwen, still groggy and slow from sleep, had yet to answer, but the elf woman didn't seem to mind the one-sided conversation, nor the frightful sight of her on the bed. Gwen was mortified to be caught so... filthy. The elf lady's garments rustled lightly in the silence as she moved in and out of the room, each time carrying twin pales of steaming water.

"Where-," Gwen's voice came out a croak, and she cleared it impatiently. The elf woman was adding some kind of oil to the water, which was now three-quarters of the way filling the tub. It's fragrant smell of orange and mint wafted out with the steam, making Gwen wish at once to dive into it. But first she had to find out about how Frodo was doing. She tried again to speak. "Where are my..." she trailed off, not sure what to call Frodo and the others. She settled on friends, wincing at the hoarse quality of her voice. "friends?"

The elf set aside the empty buckets before placing thick towels around the edge of the tub, meeting Gwen's shy eyes with her own friendly ones. "The halflings with whom you traveled are well, save for the one under Lord Elrond's care, milady." She replied calmly, smiling gently. "He has yet to wake. _Estel_ is well himself, though anxious for you to awaken." _Estel?_ The name sounded familiar, and it took Gwen a few moments to recall that Strider had been called that by someone else, as well.

"You've been asleep for over 35 hours," the elf woman continued gently, "and he was beginning to worry for you." Gwen could scarcely believe that, but she was relieved to know he was okay, too. The tall elf crossed the room gracefully and helped her to turn down the soft cover of the bed. Gwen flushed red at the disgusting scent and sight of her body out in the open. The elf said nothing, merely scrunching up her nose daintily. Gwen remembered Sam telling her that elves had a sharply keen sense of smell, and it made her even more ashamed of her hygiene. The elf's eyes remained kind, however.

"You slept fitfully at first," the woman explained, "So Lord Elrond gave you an aid for sleep. Your body needed much rest." She offered Gwen her arm in support, the epitome of graceful movement. _Do all elves look perfect?_ Gwen tried hard not to be envious. Very gently, the elf helped her gain her footing on the floor. The effort of travel, it seemed, had finally taken its' toll on her body, and she was shocked at how much effort it took just to stand. Breath puffing, Gwen leaned on the elf's surprising strength. "It is time that you had a proper bath, I should say," the woman said with a touch of humor. Her voice washed over Gwen like a gentle breeze, making her wonder if all elves seemed to command such other-worldliness.

With every movement, fire arched down Gwen's arms and into her hands at every movement, but she could see no visible wounds, only strange, fading, pinkish-purple lines crawling over her forearms. Gingerly, with the elf servant helping to pull her across the room, Gwen struggled to move. Each step revealed the extent of her filth - sweat and blood caked clothing, matted hair. Gwen was fairly certain her clothing was matted to her skin in some places. She even had the vestiges of her monthly courses on her pants. _Oh shit, that is nasty._ "I can wash myself," she offered quietly, deeply shamed by her filth.

Gwen was horrified that the beautiful woman would touch one so filthy as she, but as she discovered, her body was too sore for her to move properly on her own. The woman scoffed at her, but not with malice.

"You can barely move, little youngling. I will help you on today and there is no shame in it. You and your friends are to be commended for your courage against such a foe as the wraiths." Gwen found she was grateful for the assistance and reassurance, but she didn't relish the task before them. Instead of attempting to untie the filthy garments, the servant produced a pair of wicked-looking sewing shears and simply snipped them off of her body without so much as a by-your-leave. Gwen's first instinct was to cover the shiny purple scars that crisscrossed her abdomen and breasts, to shield them from unfamiliar eyes, but Gwen forced herself not to. _I have nothing to be ashamed of._

Then, mournfully, she thought, t _hose were my only clothes..._

As if reading her mind, the woman said, "Don't worry, you have a trunk full of clothes the Lady Arwen Undómiel has given you from her own personal collection. She sympathized with your plight greatly." By plight, Gwen surmised the elf meant being stuck in a strange world. She didn't have a clue who the elf was talking about, though. Catching Gwen's confused look, she explained further, "The Lady Arwen is Lord Elrond's daughter, and Lord Elrond is the Lord of this dwelling." In reply, Gwen nodded her understanding.

Her cut clothing was discarded with a subtle cough. "These rags will be destroyed," the elf woman said decisively. "They are too filthy to keep." Embarrassed by her nakedness and too sore to talk much, Gwen allowed the other woman to settle her into the steaming hot tub of water. She groaned as pain and sweet heat infused her sore muscles, but it quickly abated and she was able to soak peacefully for a few moments. _I don't think I'll ever be able to go camping again._

"My name is Dothiel, milady." The maid hummed as she poured hot water over her scalp. Gwen shivered as the cooler air hit her now-damp head. "My name is Gwen," she murmured, her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. She just couldn't seem to summon enough energy to speak further.

The elleth didn't seem to mind, instead focusing her attention on her charge's cleanliness. She worked a sweet oil shampoo through Gwen's caked, dirty, matted tresses, pulling her fingers as gently as she could through them to clear out the many clumps of built-up dirt and grime. Though Dothiel was careful, the process was painful, and Gwen lost many strands of hair to the buildup of grime. _I'm utterly disgusting._ Of course she knew that already, but seeing evidence of it in the water made her stomach turn with revulsion. The water soon turned brackish with grime, forcing Dothiel to stop washing and empty and refill the tub.

"I didn't realize a body could get so dirty," Gwen muttered as she watched the brown water drain into the floor through a small hole in the marble, unable to help the elven woman as she would have liked. The kind female motioned her back into the refilled tub a short while later, never commenting on the extensive scarring on Gwen's body, even as she uncovered the worst, puckered, faint purple lines that crossed her body. When the tub was again full, Dothiel scrubbed something abrasive and sweet-smelling into Gwen's dirt-streaked skin, working hard to clean the month's worth of grime from her body. It made Gwen want to scream in pain, but she endured it silently, needing to be clean despite the cost to her body.

She was grateful that Dothiel didn't ask her any questions or to expect conversation.

When the servant came to the large circular patch of scar tissue below her breast, she paused, and Gwen felt her breath catch. She thought the elleth would comment, but Dothiel continued to scrub without words. Not for the first time, Gwen wished she was alone, wanting privacy in that moment. When, at last, she was gloriously clean, Dothiel instructed her to lay on the bed, unclothed. At Gwen's sidelong, wary look, she explained, "My Lord Elrond has instructed that I rub a special liniment into your body that will reduce the pain and stiffness in your muscles tremendously. He assures me that you will feel much better for it later."

Gwen didn't feel comfortable spread naked before the elleth, with all her scars plain to see now that she was clean. She did, however, _feel_ the need behind the requested action, and allowed the maid to begin to massage a thick, scented paste into her aching body. Dothiel didn't miss a spot, even going so far as to rub the liniment into her buttocks. Normally she might have been embarrassed, but Gwen was so relaxed by the massage and the minty tingle of the paste in her skin she didn't protest. _She is right – it is taking the pain away._ The aches she had lived with for weeks were melting away under the elleth's hands, and Gwen could find no reason why she should not continue.

Dothiel worked her way up Gwen's back, rubbing a series of particularly bad knots, causing Gwen to tense at the acute pain. The elleth clucked.

" _Arwenamin_ , relax, please. The paste will soon do it's job and you will be pain free," she said in her musically lyrical voice. "I am sorry that your body has suffered so much over your trip." Dothiel's thumb touched a scar that curved around her hip gently. She didn't seem to realize she had used elvish words as she spoke. Gwen thanked the elleth softly. Gwen turned the word over in her mind, curious as to what it meant.

"What does _arwenamin_ mean, Dothiel?" The elleth paused in her rubbing.

"You have an interest in the elven tongue?" Dothiel seemed surprised in Gwen's interest. She nodded into the bedcovers. "It means 'milady,' Lady Gwen _."_ Dothiel finished with the liniment, patting her shoulder lightly. The servant stood briskly, gesturing to the drawer chest in the corner. "Pick something you like from the chest, while I bring your breakfasting meal. I'm sure you are quite hungry." She smiled softly when Gwen's stomach rumbled loudly in response. Her laughter turned serious.

"Rub the liniment into your stomach and chest as well, _arwenamin._ It will help. _"_

Gwen nodded, and Dothiel glided from the room. She watched the elleth go with a small amount of envy. _Elves seem so disgustingly perfect._ She thought of the elf she and Strider and the others met in the forest, and how utterly captivating his beauty had been. She shivered as she rubbed the minty liniment into her chest and abdomen, her breasts tightening to pointed peaks as it dried in the cool air. His old, elven eyes had been piercing, even for the split second she had met them with her own. _He saw inside of me._ The feel of her scars beneath her hands brought her back down from the beginnings of lust, like a bucket of cold water over the head.

 _Watch where you place your feet, Gwen...this is not the time or the place for any of that._ She had a friend to find, and a home to get back to.

* * *

Dothiel returned a short time later with an intricately carved wooden tray piled high with foods: fruits, cheeses, bread and a bowl of sweet smelling hazelnut spread. She also carried a pewter pitcher of water. She placed these things before her on the bed, gesturing. "Eat, _arwenamin._ I will fix your hair."

Her tone allowed for little argument, but Gwen didn't need telling twice. The rumble of her stomach had returned in full force. She forced herself to remember her manners and take small, careful bites, and try to chew well. Even still, she ate every bit of the cheese and fruit in front of her before spreading the sweet, dark hazelnut cream onto fresh slices of bread with a groan of delight. She had forgotten what it was like to eat so well. She felt like a rich woman.

Dothiel brushed her long, still-wet tresses into a sleek river down her back, careful not to pull on Gwen's scalp. Her curls had grown longer in the month she had spent on the road, and Gwen had forgotten how lustrous her hair could be if allowed to grow. It shined with chestnut darkness in the waning light. The elleth braided her hair down her back and out of her face. "You have rich color in your hair, _arwenamin_ ," she commented. "It is tinged with golds and reds, unlike any head of hair I've seen in Rivendell. And it is so long and thick. It is truly beautiful."

Gwen turned, meeting Dothiel's eyes, shocked at the beautiful elleth's compliments. Her expression caused Dothiel to laugh out loud, and the sound was as melodious as tinkling bells.

"You would deny your own beauty? It is there, and plain to see for all who look. Look!" She pulled Gwen in front of the mirror, where she stood, naked. Her scars were the most obvious of markings upon her, but beyond them she could see the green of her eyes, the shapeliness of her body, the curve of her cheek. Her nakedness made her self-conscious. "I _do_ look better cleaned up," Gwen allowed. "And my hair really is gorgeous. You worked a miracle, Dothiel!" Gwen smiled brightly at the elleth before turning back to study herself in the mirror solemnly. Her image was a far cry from what she looked like mere hours before.

 _I'm nowhere as beautiful as an elf, though._

Dothiel picked up the dress Gwen had laid out on the bed, studying it with a woman's critical eye. "A lovely choice, Lady Gwen _._ " The simple dress was dark blue velveteen with silk sleeves in silver. Embroidery cuffed the sleeves delicately and there was a thin belt decorated with a vine pattern to tie around her waist. The neckline was modest without being demure, and Dothiel thought it would be beautiful on the little human. Gwen worried she would trip in it, but she had had little choice but to choose a dress, since there were no pants to be found in the trunk.

Gwen stepped into the gown carefully with Dothiel's help, and was surprised to find the dress wasn't too long for her after all; she thought all elves were tall. "Lady Arwen had these dresses shortened to fit your height while you slept," Dothiel explained. "Many seamstresses helped to complete the task quickly." Gwen slipped on the matching slippers, overwhelmed at the many kindnesses the elves had shown her thus far. Though she still ached slightly, Gwen was happy to be in clean cloths again, and to not be hungry for the first time in days.

A short, impatient knock sounded at the door, surprising both Gwen and her aide. Dothiel went to answer as Gwen tied the soft laces of the slippers around her ankles. Task completed, she sat up, sighing. Though she felt worlds better, her thoughts were increasingly consumed with Jessie and going home. Stubbornly, thoughts of her near-death experience back home niggled at her, and again the image of the wraith appeared in her head. _How had that wraith known my name?_ It just wasn't possible – she was from Earth, and wraiths definitely didn't exist there, that she had ever seen.

At the door, Dothiel was speaking in low tones with their visitor. "I will escort her," a deep, smooth voice filtered through the room, making Gwen's heart speed up at the sound of the low tone. Dothiel moved aside to reveal Glorfindel, the elf who had rescued Frodo. He'll _escort me where, I wonder?_ She struggled to control her rapid heartbeat and breathing. It made her nervous, the idea of going anywhere with this male. He seemed to have some magic that swayed her good sense to thoughts of ridiculous proportions, and Gwen didn't trust it. Her reaction to the elf was abnormal enough to make her defensive and distractedly tense. She had to be reacting abnormally because he was elven. _He is the first you've ever met_. Gwen jerked in surprise when Dothiel appeared directly in front of her suddenly. Gwen hadn't heard her move at all, so lost in thought she had become.

" _Arwenamin_ , my Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you now. Unfortunately, it cannot wait." Gwen caught her disapproving look at elf in the doorway. It seemed her new elf friend didn't want her to leave anymore than Gwen wanted to go. Nonetheless, she helped Gwen stand and led her to the doorway.

"Lord Glorfindel will see you to the meeting place. He will return you here after, so do not worry about getting lost."

Gwen swallowed hard, staring up at the tall elf standing so imperiously emotionless in the doorway. His blue-grey eyes met hers, and had she not been holding Dothiel's arm, Gwen might have collapsed when her knees went weak. _Why in the heck does that always seem to happen?_ Each look was like a blow to her nerves. _You're just exhausted, Gwen. Don't make it more than it is. It's not like he can help being a good-looking, magical elf._ Glorfindel's face was smooth, giving no indication of his inner thoughts. He offered her his arm in gentlemanly fashion.

"Are you ready, milady?" he asked quietly. Gwen nodded. "Let's go," she said, a little out of breath already, muscles straining to move her with every step. The muscles in his forearm flexed strongly under her hand, but his grip remained firm and supporting.

With one last nod at Dothiel, the tall elf led her from the room.

* * *

 _Please review._


	10. Elrond's Council

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _This chapter was originally supposed to be part of the chapter, Careworn. But together that chapter would have been over double the length of all the other chapters, so I split it into two. Enjoy :)_

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Nine: Elrond's Council**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _Destiny has two ways of crushing us – by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them. ~Henri Frederic Amiel_

* * *

Gwen's mouth was dry with anticipation – and fear. She was about to meet the lord of the elves who lived here, and she surmised that it was no small potatoes thing to meet an elf lord. Her thoughts raced with the possibilities of what he might be able to tell her, and if he would even be willing to help her! Her nerves were, thankfully, distracting her from her escort's arm beneath her hand. _This Lord Elrond must know of a way for me to go home, surely._ Gwen's body tightened with more and more anxiety with every step she took.

The floor beneath her feet was marble, Gwen noted, though not great slabs of it, but rather tiny, perfectly carved pieces that fit together to form one large mosaic of color. The creams, browns and greens matched very well to the neutral color of the vine and leaf decor all around. It was so different from what she had seen of Bree. The humans of Bree had seemed largely as expected in their way of living - not so much a shock to Gwen as it could have been had she not been aware of the medieval history of Earth. But this? The elven domain - the elves themselves - were a surprise to her. Their honest-to-God magical presence and ethereal quality enchanted her senses, and Gwen wondered if all humans had this reaction to the elves or if it was just her.

Her thoughts helped ease her worry for a few moments, but it soon came roaring back like a blazing flame in her mind. Life as she knew it depended on someone, _somewhere_ in this world knowing how to get her back to California. _What if this elf lord doesn't know of a way to get home? What if I'm stuck here forever?_ It was an intolerable thought. Gwen was rife with nerves, and she trembled at the thought of never seeing her parents again. Gwen was so caught up in her own thoughts that she missed Glorfindel's piercing eyes flicker down at her more than once, not knowing she was radiating her fear and anxiety and that he could feel it as if it were his own to feel. Humans with strong feelings could always be sensed clearly by the elves, as their senses extended more deeply into the spiritual plane than other races.

It made his heart heavy to feel her fear and anxiety, and wondered at the cause of it. Was she afraid to see Lord Elrond? If so, her fear was misplaced. Still, he wished to do something to allay her fears. Humans seemed to do more talking than his own kin in stressful situations, so distract her, he would try talking to her as they walked through the growing shadows of the Homely House. But what to say? Glorfindel The moon would soon be peaking over the walls to greet them with her rays, and Glorfindel was an elf who enjoyed the feel of moonlight on his skin. His spirit rose. He risked a quick glance at the little human at his side.

"Might I have your name, lady?" Glorfindel's smooth tones caused her to jump a little, but the sound caressed her; his unusually accented voice was doing funny things to her stomach, but she could barely focus on his words. Gwen's grip tightened momentarily on his arm as her thighs trembled in weariness. "My name is Gwen," she replied softly, braving a look up into his eyes. Her breath faltered at the beauty of his face and at the strength radiating from his towering form. He was so tall! And - regal. It seemed to her that he must be a king; he certainly looked the part. She was both soothed and nervous in his presence, as if something in him was touching something in _her_ , just simply by _being_. It was a disconcerting thing to feel. Glorfindel seemed unaffected. He bowed his head, silently acknowledging her words, leading her through the open corridors of Rivendell.

"And I am Glorfindel, Lady Gwen." He left off his titles, fearing they might overwhelm the human. Gwen, for her part, was enchanted. There was a courtliness about him that appealed to her. He was very polite to her, and rather reserved. His presence made it easier to deal with the physical pain she was still feeling, and the emotional turmoil rapidly building up inside her. His eyes were unfathomable, though, and she had trouble meeting them. They held an ancient presence she couldn't define in human terms. It was different even from Dothiel, though he carried himself with the same grace, and was as kind as she had been. He was simply _more_.

Her halting, slow gait didn't seem to phase him in the slightest, and when she nearly tripped, he merely steadied her gently without reproach or even a hint of a smile at her expense. "You are still in pain," he murmured. It was not a question. His eyes, ageless as the stars, swirled and darkened with concern before she broke away from his gaze, flinching, and flushing red. _He is absolutely enrapturing._ Gwen mentally slapped herself, appalled at her lack of wits, and at the instant attraction she felt for this elf. _S_ he didn't trust the feeling one bit _._ She pulled herself away from her thoughts, smiling slightly at the elf beside her. "A little bit, yes. The liniment Dothiel gave me makes it much less painful to move, but I hurt from here," she motioned from her waist to her hips, "to here." Gwen was aware that this was the most she had said since she had awoken, and stopped, blushing. A ghost of a smile flitted over the elf's face, but he carefully kept his thoughts from reaching his features. _He is a difficult person to read._ Shrugging to herself, she lapsed into quiet, enjoying the nighttime noises that were filling the valley.

They walked in silence together, linked arm in arm.

After a short walk, her guide brought her to a door carefully carved to resemble the trunk of a tree. It was amazing the artistry and detail that went into a trivial, commonplace thing like a door, and she was reminded of the food tray Dothiel had brought her. It, too, was a work of art. The elves, it seemed, were very different from humans in this; that was, if they could be compared to the humans of Bree at all. So far, the cultured grace of their architecture wooed her. Glorfindel opened the door without a knock, pressing his body to the open door to allow her to pass him into the room. "The lady Gwen, Lord Elrond, as you requested," he called inside.

Gwen's fears came rushing back as she stood there, rooted to her spot, all previous enchantment washed away in the tidal wave of anxiety she felt in her bones. Glorfindel, as aware of her emotions as he was, felt her fear and misinterpreted that fear. "Gwen, you have nothing to fear from Lord Elrond. I swear this to you." He wanted to comfort her. She looked so fragile and careworn as she leaned on him for strength. His spirit cried out to aid her in some way, but he quashed the notion, knowing she would not need it in Lord Elrond's presence. Gwen swallowed, nodding absently before moving through the doorway and into the room. Glorfindel's tall elf form brushed hers from behind as he followed. She was at first completely taken in by the unexpected vastness of the space before her. Rows and rows of books and scrolls lined high walls, and a large fireplace crackled lowly behind a massive desk in front of her.

The waning evening light spilled forth from high windows, casting soothing shadows about the room. The architecture was as such that anyone who saw it had the impression of being outdoors, amongst the trees, rather than inside a building. It was really quite extraordinary. A dark-haired elf stood with his back to her, looking out one of the windows next to an even taller, wizened man in gray robes. A slightly breeze filtered in from somewhere, the cool air making Gwen shiver in her dress. The elf hadn't appeared to notice her yet, but the old man looked back at the pair of them with twinkling eyes. Immediately, Gwen was warmed.

"The Lady, my lord." The elder man indicated her position with a brief motion of his hand.

" _Diola lle,_ Glorfindel." Elrond addressed Glorfindel, who smiled at her for the first time – albeit a small, controlled smile, before he turned and walked out, clearly dismissed from his duty for now. Gwen didn't want him to leave her alone, but she knew that was irrational. It wasn't like she knew him any better than these two. The elf, Lord Elrond, turned to her with a welcoming smile, and Gwen was heartened to discover his face more aged and weathered than the other elves she had seen yet. On his brow he wore a silver circlet that obviously denoted his highborn status. The elf lord Elrond stood silent, observing her.

He countenance was strangely familiar to her, and his kind eyes were almost fatherly as he looked upon her. Gwen wanted to weep at the flash of recognition within her as she looked upon this man. _No, he's an elf, not a man,_ Gwen reminded herself. She saw her own father within him, though they looked nothing alike. This elf's presence was even more moving than Glorfindel's had been. Just looking at the lord made her calm and reassured. _There is magic in this place; I can see it on his face. Oh, please, let it be enough to get me home!_

She sent up the prayer desperately.

Helpless, hopeful tears welled in her eyes, and Elrond, seeing them, crossed the room to clasp her cold hands with his own wordlessly while the old man looked on, curious at his old friend's actions. The three of them stood, silent, for many moments. A soothing feeling washed over Gwen, and it was like a balm for her frazzled nerves. It helped her to force back her emotions, and, after a moment, Elrond pulled her to a copse of chairs, setting her in one gently.

"Please, sit," the elf said, his features warm and open. His eyes, like Glorfindel's, were fathomless and ancient, unreadable. "I admit I have been most anxious that we meet, young one." His eyes flickered up to the elder man briefly before rejoining hers. "Estel has told me much about you." Gwen sank back into the plush seat, slightly shaken, but feeling more steady. _Surely they must think me frail._ Lord Elrond joined her in another chair. "I am Elrond, child, Lord of this House and of these lands." He motioned to the elder man, who had moved over to them as well.

"This is Gandalf."

Gwen's eyes widened as the man in question, Gandalf, passed her a cup of strong, sweet tea. _This is THE Gandalf? The one with the fireworks?_ The hobbits had entertained her greatly with tales of Gandalf and stealing his fireworks. Shocked, Gwen accepted the cup silently. The elder man smiled, but it was muted, as if he was unsure of her. His reserve bothered her, but Gwen could understand his suspicion. _Strider and the others must have told them everything_ already.

Momentarily, she regretted her hasty decision to force Strider and the hobbits to take her along through the wilderness.

"Yes! Of course, Frodo and the others talked about you a lot," she murmured, eyes downcast, "when they talked to me, that is," she added after a moment. Feeling self-conscious, Gwen distracted herself by taking a sip of the hot liquid, nearly choking when she remembered Frodo, and in her haste to speak forgetting to swallow first. "OH! Frodo! Is he awake? He was so sick, and.." Gandalf laid a comforting, halting hand upon her arm, but his eyes remained sharp. His gaze met hers, and lingered there.

"Frodo has been healed, for as much as Lord Elrond could manage. He will awaken soon. Do not worry about him." Gwen nodded, pleased that her little friend would be okay. "I want to see him." She sipped her tea, enjoying the heat on her throat. Her words came out a whisper. "Soon." Lord Elrond looked serious.

"I am not certain that would be wise at the present time." His eyes were gentle but grave. "The wound he bears is serious indeed." He opened his mouth, but no words came out. In the next heartbeat, the door to the study was thrown open, revealing a clean, new Strider. Gwen rose unsteadily to her feet, her happiness at seeing him – familiar Strider – plain across her features. _He is so clean!_ He entered without permission, but to her it seemed as if he did not care if he had it, ignoring the other men momentarily to focus on her, his face clouded with weariness and a somber neutrality that set her on edge more quickly than these strangers could have done. He strode to her, carefully inspecting her. Finally, he said, "I am glad to see you up and well, girl. I thought I had killed you, getting here as we did."

She took in his regal, handsome features. Gwen was not surprised that he cleaned up so well. "No...I'm alright. Sore, but that's nothing – time fixes everything." She couldn't get over how nice he looked, clean and smooth-faced. "I was right about you, Strider. You are very handsome." She laughed quietly at the insider's joke, but the others reminded silently somber. Gwen sat back down, feeling chastened and unsure of herself. Was she being interrogated? The ranger moved without a sound to take the last chair. There was an awkwardness in the air, and Gwen realized with a lurch they _did_ meant to question her and certainly had no intentions of believing her. Her presence was cause for concern for them.

She understood, but the lack of trust especially from Strider hurt. _Understanding doesn't make their mistrust any easier to handle._ Manners, it seemed, would win out over inquisition for the moment. "I am glad you could join us, Estel." Strider inclined his head in deference to the Lord of Rivendell. "We were just about to begin." Elrond paused, taking in Gwen's form, carefully considering his words. "We are grateful for your courage in aiding Frodo. His quest was indeed perilous for all involved, but for you most of all. Estel explained to us how you became involved in his journey with the hobbits, and of your most curious belongings. He also explained you have some familiarity with the wraiths of Mordor. He, and we, are most interested in hearing your tale. From whence do you hail?"

He looked at her kindly, but with intelligent, sharp eyes that searched her deeply, as if reading her very soul. Gwen had nearly forgotten about her things, now lost on Weathertop. Now that she had time to recall them, she mourned the loss. They were a tie to home. _Still, they are just things. Frodo's life is much more important._ Now that he was safe, however, her priority was finding Jessie, if she was in Middle Earth as she suspected, and going home. Gwen squared her shoulders then, determined that she _would_ be going home with Lord Elrond's help, so her things were unimportant.

The three of them waited for her to respond, and the silence was very uncomfortable. Gwen couldn't help the blush that rose up the column of her neck at their combined gazes, and she was unsure how to respond. To lie would not get her home, but the truth was so hard to believe. _God, I'm going to sound like an idiot. 'Oh hey, yeah about that...I'm pretty sure I was attacked by a morgul-blade. On Earth..'_

She sighed. That was never going to go over. Still, she only had one viable option: the truth. _I can't lie worth a damn anyway._ " Okay." She paused. "I know it sounds very hard to believe, but I'm not from Middle Earth at all. I'm from a place called the United States, though I don't expect you to recognize the name. It's not anywhere near here, I know that," she added with a touch of humor. "I've seen a map." The wry humor she felt melted away after a moment. Gandalf and Lord Elrond shared a look, eyes sharp and wary. It looked as if Gandalf were about to sharply question her further, but Elrond beat him to it, saying,

"You could be lying."

Gwen grew indignant at his mistrust, despite her desire to be civil. Was he going to assume everything she said was a lie? What would it take to make these people believe the truth?

"What reason would I have to lie?" She struggled for dignity. Gwen was a good person who did her best to do the right things. It chafed to be thought of as someone other than that. "I just want to go home and be done with the whole lot of this mess," she sighed.

The elven lord answered her counter with one of his own. "You could be a spy for Sauron," he reasoned quietly. "His eyes are everywhere, and can be very deceptive indeed." Strider cut her angry retort off, saying,

"I highly doubt that, Lord Elrond. The only skill of note she possess is cooking, and even then the girl has never skinned or killed an animal with which to do so before I showed her. Do you not recall?" He sought her agreement. Gwen was honestly surprised he sought to allay the elf lord's fears. Her hands shook as she grasped at the fabric of her dress. _How dare they call me a spy? I'm not evil!_ She did remember what the ranger spoke of, at least. Strider had plopped a doe carcass beside her one night as they were pitching the tent, and had expected her to clean it. When she had retched onto his boots halfway through the nasty process, Strider taken over without a word, his eyes regarding her curiously. He had never asked, however. _Of course not,_ she thought bitterly _. No one here puts any stock into what I say._

She nodded, coldly, trying to look at this conversation from Lord Elrond's point of view. He _had_ no reason to trust her. "I'd never seen a dead deer before," she explained woodenly, and looked to Lord Elrond as she continued. "Frodo and the others are the first hobbits I've ever seen, and Glorfindel the first elf, for that matter," she explained. "Only humans exist where I'm from, Lord Elrond." Elrond considered her words, carefully covering his shock. He sat forward in interest, a little less hostile and more intrigued, encouraging the girl to continue.

"I am telling the truth," Gwen insisted. " There is not much magic at all in my world, though there are some who believe in it. Before I came here I didn't have a clue who Sauron was, much less how to be a spy for him!" Elrond sat contemplating her words, his brows creased in thought, hands clasped in front of his face. Gandalf looked very concerned, which set Gwen's teeth on edge. She couldn't begin to imagine what they were thinking. It seemed that for now Lord Elrond was willing to listen to her story, so she continued.

"I am not even certain how I came to be here. And _I just want to go home._ " Her voice turned desperate. "I was, dreaming, I guess - while on a camping trip with my friend. When I woke up, I was in a field outside of Bree, which is how the hobbits found me, on the road. There were odd burn marks all around." At the time, it had merely seemed odd to her, but now, those burns in the grass seemed significant. Remembering Jessie, Gwen's voice saddened. "I have not seen my friend since then." Knowing now a little better what Middle Earth was like, it didn't seem likely that Jessie would be okay if she was here! Gwen couldn't stomach the thought of Jessie being hurt, and resolutely steered her thoughts away from that idea.

The trio of males was silent, contemplating her story carefully. "You wouldn't have happened to see another girl like me running around Middle Earth, have you?" Gwen couldn't resist asking. Surprisingly, her words seemed to visibly spark some memory within Elrond and Gandalf, but they seemed hesitant to speak to her. Had they seen Jessie? Gwen needed to know, and sat forward pleadingly. "You have, haven't you?!" she gasped. "When? Where was she?"

Gandalf passed a look to the dark-haired elven lord that spoke volumes. He obviously knew _something_. For a moment it seemed as if they communicated silently, which, given the magic of this place wouldn't entirely shock her. Long moments passed in silence. Gandalf, finally, gave her an answer. "You are not the first person I have met to claim no knowledge of our world," he admitted, "but it is not what you think." His voice had a rolling cadence that was uniquely his. "It has been more than fifty years since this occurrence, and as such, we have seen no _recent_ sign of another girl like you, as you say, 'running' anywhere."

Gwen processed his words, eyes falling sadly. _No Jessie, then._ Still, she wanted to know more about this other person they had met. Elrond, however, interrupted her questions suspiciously. "There is still much you have not explained," he challenged softly. "Why then, if you are so unfamiliar with this land, did you follow Frodo's company into the dangers of the wild? Surely you have the wits to know it would not be safe for you." Gwen wanted to be offended at his obvious doubt of her abilities, but why wouldn't he wonder about it? They had a war gearing up, after all.

She sighed heavily. "When it became obvious that I would not be able to get home from Bree, I opted to join Frodo and the others to come here, hoping that the elves..." she trailed off sadly, eying them all with a muted gaze. " _You_ ," she specified, "Lord Elrond, would be able to help me get back home. I am _not_ a spy," she ground out, clenching her hands in her lap. "I just want to go home." She looked pleadingly between the three men sitting there, her gaze hopeful. "I don't care about Sauron or whatever is going on here. Please just help me get home. I don't belong here."

When no immediate positive answer was forthcoming, Gwen secret bubble of hope began to deflate. A scarier thought rose. _What if they lock me up because they think I'm lying?_ Ice chilled her skin. Elrond and Gandalf shared another look, and Gwen was painfully, heartrendingly aware of the careful neutrality reflected in their eyes. For a moment should couldn't breathe. "I'm not going home, am I?" she murmured, ducking her head. "You're going to lock me up and I'm going to die here, aren't I?"

She could barely choke the words out past the enormous lump in her throat. _I can't stay here! This place isn't my home._ Lord Elrond looked surprised, and slightly taken aback. He shared words in another language with Gandalf, and Strider looked at her with pity in his eyes before replying in the same tongue - Elvish. At last, Elrond shook his head. "I do not believe you are a spy, Gwendolyn Carrick. I have no intentions of 'locking you up,' as you say, unless I find the situation warrants it." His words were a relief and a warning. The horror inside Gwen lessened to mere worry.

"So you'll help me get home?" She clung to hope.

Gandalf gently tried to explain, and Gwen was heartened to see the distrust melting from his eyes. "It really is a matter of how exactly you came to be here, my dear, which by your limited knowledge of how it came to be is not so easy to determine – though I do have _some_ ideas on the matter." His gaze actually _twinkled_. What a turn-around. Gwen's bubble of hope gained a little altitude.

"Let us talk about the scars which you bear on your body, Lady Gwen," Elrond suggested, waving a hand at Strider, who looked as if he would protest. _Estel. Oh, whatever his name is._ "Estel has told us that you believe these scars to be similar to that which Frodo received whilst in the watchtower." Gwen had trouble understanding the shift in conversation. _What does this have to do with me going home?_

She really just wanted to talk about that, but she could see the elven lord would not be dissuaded from this topic just yet. With a sigh, she said, "I don't know, not really. They certainly look the same, though mine are much more healed than Frodo's, of course." Gandalf was watching her, clearly keen to hear what she was saying. Gwen was already shaking her head, and second-guessing herself. There was no way she was stabbed by the same blade. It was ridiculous.

"But it's impossible!" she insisted. "I was wounded by some hateful _human_ male on Earth a year ago." She paused, growing exasperated. "How is this remotely important to my going _home?_ "

Gandalf's face was the very picture of compassion as he watched her now. "I am not certain as of yet, my lady, but your being here, when you certainly shouldn't be, cannot just happen randomly," he explained. "These things are a delicate and tricky matter. But it certainly does one's assessment much more good to have all the facts." His eyes twinkled again. "How did you come by your wounds, exactly?" he asked, not unkindly. "Anything you can remember may help us help you."

Gwen scoffed, automatically growing defensive and slightly hostile through this line of questioning. She hated to talk about the attack – ever. But when they just sat there, waiting for her reply, she finally caved in, explaining, "Oh _fine_ , if you must know," she replied. "Though I'm sorry, I can't see how this will help you." She paused, but no one interrupted or changed topics. "I was attacked by some crazy rich guy outside of my mother's business one night." She had tucked away the memories for so long now she struggled to remember specific details.

"It was a full moon night," she said, smiling unknowingly at Strider, who watched her with hooded, unreadable eyes. "I remember that because the light that night was so strong – it was almost easy to see going home. Just past the park, he struck me in the back, knocking me down. I...I had my shoes in my hands, and they fell to the ground." Her voice took on a curious tonal quality, as if she was merely reciting things she knew rather than explaining an event she was involved in.

"He said he was going to kill me – that he had to kill me. Something about the quality of my blood or something." The memories were growing hazy. "He needed me dead for something. All I remember was being terrified...and I ran," Gwen waved her hands, punctuating the event, as she sometimes did without thinking. "I tore up my feet really badly running, but he caught me and he stabbed me, here," she touched her left side below her breasts.

Her gaze returned to clearness as she met each man's shocked gaze. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you it hurt," she said wryly. "I thought he had killed me. So did the doctors and my parents, too. They were about to pull the plug on me when they discovered the shard of blade still in my chest." Gandalf's gaze sharpened then, and Gwen noticed it and latched on.

"What?" she demanded. "Why is that important?"

It was obvious by their silence that neither the wizard nor the elf wished to share anything with her. "What does it mean to 'pull the plug' on someone?" Strider asked curiously, again distracting her attention to the others. Gwen answered before turning her attention back to the others, still expecting an answer about why her information was important.

Gandalf glanced at Elrond pointedly, who sighed, explaining at last, "Morgul-blades do break apart in their victims, and the shards move to the heart, seeking to spread the corruption of the netherworld to those who suffer from the wounds." He lapsed into silence a moment, clearly thinking deeply. "But it is most curious that you have any knowledge of this type of weapon at all, even if you were not aware that you had it." He broke off for a moment before continuing. "You have said it yourself that magic does not exist in your world."

"I'm not lying!" She cried out vehemently, sick to death of the elf lord's serious implications towards her character. Elrond blinked, absorbing her outburst calmly, his eyes faintly reproving. After a moment's thought, Gwen realized he _hadn't_ been calling her a liar at all, simply stating his own surprise. She had seriously jumped to conclusions there. Gwen grew shamefaced, but the elf lord barely noticed. Gandalf was speaking to him in a language Gwen had never heard before, and to her surprise it seemed as though Strider did not either.

After a moment, Elrond replied in the same tongue before sighing heavily and nodding. _What were they discussing?_ Gwen's curiousity was piqued, but she knew they did not trust her enough to answer any questions she had. At last, Gandalf nodded and addressed her again, "I believe your claims, Gwen, as serious as they may be. Your story is remarkably familiar to us," he glanced sidelong at the stern, aging elf. "Even if we do not know more than that."

He paused for a moment, clearly in thought. "I do know of some...old magics. But it is exceedingly strange for such magics to have occurred in your world, and even more odd is that you survived a brush with such dark energy without elvish medicine, and further still, that you are _here_ with us now."

Gwen's own memories flickered, and she murmured to herself, "I wasn't meant to."

Strider leaned forward, the confusion on his face a mirror of her own. He was trying to hear her. "What was that you said, Gwen?"

She grimaced, twisting her hands together in her lap anxiously. "I wasn't meant to survive the attack at all, I said. The man...he meant to kill me. He killed all the others, at least, I know." Again, something in what she said struck Gandalf, who asked, "The others? There were more?" Gwen nodded, sadness for her fellow victims creeping into her consciousness again. There were so many. _After all, it could have been me too. Should have been, I guess._ "There were lots, according to the police. All died, except for me." It was so sad.

Again, the two elder males began to converse in their strange tongue, and though Gwen was faintly irritated by their conversation, she understood their need to speak so that she couldn't understand. Understanding didn't mean she couldn't be annoyed, however. Gandalf's response was cut off by Elrond.

"Your words touch my memory," he murmured, a hint of awe in his pleasant voice. Gwen was able to understand him, now, even as he spoke to Gandalf. The elf lord stood, obviously growing restless. "How did we never make a connection, _Mithrandir?"_ He sounded pained. "It has been in front of our faces for...far too long." Even Gwen could hear the regret in his voice. Elrond seemed to forget she, and Strider, could understand his words. Hebegan to move about the room, deeply in thought. There was so much going on in this _conversation_ that Gwen did not understand.

"The sacking of Arnor by the Witch King long ago..." he was saying. His paces carried him back and forth along the marble frescoes. "He was seeking something in the kingdom, then. We always suspected..." Elrond turned to Gandalf. "Is it possible that such things are connected?" Strider, who was as clueless as she in this bend of the conversation, grew exasperated. "Speak plainly, please," he exclaimed, frustrated. "What is the significance of this for Gwendolyn?"

Gandalf's gaze had grown bleak with dawning awareness. He swept his long hair behind an ear, explaining, "My order of wizards, the Istari, have long been aware of a rift between the worlds" he said heavily, his eyes meeting Gwen's regretfully. "It is an opening you _could_ have traveled through to this world, my lady, but it is only accessible through acts of extreme evil, so it is rarely done." The wizard sighed heavily, clearly burdened by his burgeoning understanding.

"The last person to open this rift was Sauron the Destroyer through his minion the Witch King of Angmar and he did so to the doom of thousands in Arnor. We never understood why such events occurred. It is possible that the death of those poor souls caused the portal to be opened." Gandalf looked deeply troubled. "No one had any idea that it could be opened from your world."

Gandalf looked positively thunderstruck at his own revelation. "We doubted her so..." he murmured under his breath. Gwen had was keenly aware that the wizard was _not_ talking about her. Gwen's mind raced with thoughts; she was trying to understand what she was being told, and missed completely Gandalf's internal struggles. "So...you think this Witch King – a wraith – came to Earth?" Her voice was incredulous. "But, _why?_ For what purpose exactly?" Gwen demanded. "To kill some little girls, only to come back here? Because _clearly_ he's back _now_." Gwen was upset now, for herself and for Frodo and the others all over again. None of this should have happened.

Gwen's voice was now shaking. "And I still want to know _what in the seven levels of hell_ this has to do with my being here, _damn it_." Gwen knew she was being disrespectful but couldn't contain her emotions. She simply wanted to be back home, in her bed, with her family. No more wraiths, no more morgul-blades. No more of any of it. A long pause followed her demand, making her want to scream.

Finally, Lord Elrond spoke, soothingly. "It is possible Sauron sent his minion to your world to discover any power to be found there." Gwen was trying to understand everything, but there was so much she didn't know about Middle Earth and even her own world. "There isn't any power," she exclaimed baldly. "Magical power anyway, to be found in my world! I already told you that!"

"But Sauron would not have known that," Elrond countered calmly. "It is possible you were brought here as a result of the magics wrought when the minion of Sauron finally returned." Silence reigned in the aftermath of her temper, and Gwen was helpless against the tears that rose as her rage fled her. "I just want to go _home_ ," she cried brokenly, voice shaking with emotion. Gwen was as fragile in those moments as she had ever been in her life.

"Surely you can help her," Strider urged. Gwen's eyes flickered back and forth between the elf lord and the wizard, desperate and pleading. Elrond watched her with heavy sadness, and said gently, "There is little else that the elves know of this matter, I am afraid. The Dark Lord and his minion used evil, tainted energy to open the rift to begin with. It is possible the energy he used to come back pulled you through as well. Why, I do not know."

Elrond took in her rapidly crumpling visage with compassion before turning away to study out the window. "There are those in elvendom who may, in fact, know more of this matter, but I do not. Perhaps we can find the answers we all seek, but I am afraid given Sauron's return it will have to wait." He turned to face them all once more, his eyes kind. "It is simply too dangerous to seek the answers you desire, Lady Gwendolyn. It may forever be closed to you. I am sorry."

His eyes were serious and so deep. She was lost in his gaze, but his words gave her no hope or comfort. She grew chilled, and shivered, then hot and flushed. Gwen sat, her body numb, her cheeks still wet from her tears. _I'm not going home. I'll never see anyone I love again._ "So you can't get me home now," she replied woodenly. "Right. Got it." She had lived every day of the past month in hopes she would see her parents again, and her friends. Now it seemed her stay in Middle Earth could be indefinite, at least until the war against Sauron ended, which may very well be a lifetime. The chasm of desolation in her soul opened up in widening, yawning grief, and she was rapidly losing control. Gwen found it ironic that the folks who accused her of being a spy five minutes ago were now trying to comfort her.

"I am sorry, Gwen." Gandalf added compassionately. "Were it in our power to grant you this wish, neither myself nor Lord Elrond would deny you what you seek. But it cannot be done, at least to my knowledge." Gwen wanted to rail against him, to scream at him for shattering the last vestiges of her hopes of ever seeing home again. Logically she knew it was better to go forward in such a way, but all logical seemed to be failing her in the torrent of emotions she was feeeling.

"For now, you will stay as an _esteemed guest_ in this house until such time as we understand more fully your situation." Elrond was not without compassion, but he seemed so unemotionaly as he destroyed her entire world with his words. Unbeknownst to her, the elf lord was keenly aware of her emotions, and the voracity of them stunned him. For heartbeats, she was numb, but then, the pain hit her like a Mack truck, sending her over the edge into meltdown. The sickening weight of crushing sadness was like piercing ice in Lord Elrond's _feä_ , needling him into pain. The unexpected blow to his spirit might have sent him reeling had it not been for Gandalf's steadying hand upon his shoulder.

Regretfully, they watched the fragile woman-child in front of them shatter. Her eyes welled with fat tears that fast overflowed down her cheeks in an unstoppable river. Strider reached out to touch her, to give comfort, but she evaded his hands fiercely, reeling back out of the chair so quickly she nearly toppled over into the floor. Gwen scrambled for emotional purchase, breathes coming in gasps from her chest. She couldn't stand to be in this room with these people any longer.

"I – I...understand," she gasped out, barely able to force the words from her chest. Tears burned her throat hotly. "Thank you for your consideration Lord Elrond." She didn't mean the words at all. "Please ex...excuse me." Without another word, Gwen fled from the room, past Glorfindel, who was standing sentry at the door, and down the corridor, not caring at all where she ended up. _It doesn't matter now. Nothing does._ The pain she was feeling was white-hot in her chest.

"My lady Gwen!" Glorfindel called to her, concerned by her exit, but she barely registered the sound in her ears. Despair was alive in her, spurring her to run away from the nightmare her life had become. She struggled to breath past her body-shaking sobs, and her body moved sluggishly, like it was filled with lead. Gwen leaned weakly against a stone column, gasping and wheezing and coughing. She was choking on her tears, barely able to breathe.

She clutched her abdomen as if she could staunch the invisible wound that had erupted there. _It cannot be done._ Gandalf's words echoed in her mind, and the pain the voice caused was so acute she moaned, then choked again, the heaves wracking her body with sobs so all-consuming she couldn't stand any longer. The food she had eaten was released as she hurled, barely able to keep herself up as her body seized in it's physical grief. Gwen sank to the ground as the heaves ceased, headless of her surroundings – of anything. She was delirious in her misery.

Someone touched her cheek unexpectedly, pulling her struggling form into a strong, masculine embrace. Gwen blindly fought, uncaring if she hurt the person. A man's hands rubbed her back even as her hands beat his chest, soothing and murmuring nonsense words. Somewhere deep inside, Gwen was embarrassed by her actions, but that part of herself was not in control. She clung to the man's body, as helpless as a baby. Her heart was breaking, cracking into pieces that nothing and no one could mend. She wasn't aware of the others who stood nearby, watching, concerned. Her spirit had cried out, and those who could feel it had come. The only sound in the hall was of her cries.

Her pain was total and all-consuming, and no amount of comfort could reach her in those moments.

* * *

 _Diola_ _lle_ : Thank you.


	11. A Meeting of Minds, Part One

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Ten: A Meeting of Minds, Part One**

 **by:** **Sherrywine**

* * *

After what felt like hours, Gwen's sobs quieted and eventually fell into harsh hiccups that wracked her body.

Soft material lay under her fingers, and she caressed it and the firm muscle beneath it, unthinkingly seeking warmth where she could. Her body was trembling, both from the cold of night and from her emotional ordeal. Large hands paused, then resumed their path up and down her back, giving her the comfort she sought so instinctively. Lord Elrond's voice filtered quietly above her head, and in her grief-hazed state it barely registered. "Let us move her to her chamber to rest. I have more of the sleeping potion."

 _No...no rest._

Gwen shook her head vigorously from where it lay against Glorfindel's chest. The blonde-haired elf seemed to have no desire to move, and his arms encircled her more tightly. "I will care for her, my lord," his voice intoned from above her head, his voice soft, melodious, and carrying hard notes within it. His chest rumbled with each word, soothing her. Slowly, her wits began to return, and with it, shame. Still, the elf who cradled her so gently did not release her. After long minutes, her vomit was cleaned from the floor and the corridor began to clear. Soon, she and Glorfindel were alone, though she knew Lord Elrond was very close by. In the silence, Gwen could hear him murmuring elvish, and the words washed over and through her, bringing much needed peace to her spirit.

He seemed to be healing her somehow.

Ashamed at her complete breakdown in front of them all, Gwen tried to rise. Glorfindel resisted her movements, allowing her to go no farther than to perch upon his lap. Deeply shamed, Gwen could not look up into his face. "Do not be ashamed," he murmured softly, one hand caressing her back, while the other raised to her face to remove the last of her tears. "Such strong emotion is too large a burden for anyone," he continued before lapsing into his own tongue. A shiver of awareness crawled through her as the words she did not understand swept over her. They were close, touching intimately. Strangely, she did not feel awkward about that.

Oddly, she felt completely surrounded by him and his protection. Safe. Still, she couldn't bring herself to look up, into his deeply knowing eyes. Gwen expelled a shaky breath, and hiccuped again. Calmness was coming now, and the grief was becoming a dull ache in her chest. Still, Glorfindel continue his elvish speech and roaming hands. Feeling strong enough to move, Gwen tensed in preparation to rise. The ache in her muscles was a dull throb, coupled with the throb of a headache behind her eyes. Glorfindel resisted her attempt to move at first, but after a moment supported her hands as she gained her footing.

He did not release her until he had also stood, and they both faced the elven lord. Gwen's whole demeanor was cowed, but she was not beaten. Feeling weak in the knees, she locked her legs, even as she might have leaned on Glorfindel for support. "I..I deeply apologize, Lord Elrond," she murmured softly. "I was overwhelmed." That was a huge understatement, however true it was. Beside her, her elven comforter was tense, clearly unhappy with her words.

Resolutely, Gwen made up her mind then and there to be useful. As Strider had indicated, she knew next to nothing of life in Middle Earth, but if she was to be here for a long time, perhaps her whole life, she would need to learn. This blossoming purpose gave Gwen something to hang on to, to strive for. Something that would distract her from this overwhelming grief. She only hoped that the elf lord would allow her enough freedom to do so.

Lord Elrond seemed troubled by her, but with strengthening resolve Gwen finally met his gaze with her own. "If I am to be here, I need to learn skills, useful skills." She paused to think of what skills she might learn. "Cooking, of course. Sewing and first aid. Horseback riding. All of it that I can." Gwen was desperate for action to distract her. She was funneling all her energy into remaining coherent and standing. The elf lord's gaze was understanding and saddened, and she could not bear it for more than a moment. "I want to learn to fight as well, as it is done here."

Glorfindel made a sound of protest then, steadying her gently when she swayed. He did not speak, beyond a low string of Elvish that made Lord Elrond flinch. "There is time enough for that later. You should rest now," the elf suggested. She couldn't stand the sound of Elrond's fatherly voice. "No," she intoned resolutely "I have to do this, _now_ , or I'll..." _Shatter._ Her voice wavered at the end, but her eyes were blazing with determination. Elrond stared into her face a moment, until his eyes softened. Finally, he nodded, acquiescing to her demands, though they went against his better judgment.

"All right, _aier._ We will teach you these things you ask for. Let's get you back to your room, where Dothiel will be waiting." His voice was as gentle as a mother with a newborn baby, a far cry from the stern elven Lord he had been mere moments ago. "And I can learn to fight?" Gwen demanded. She wanted his word.

"In time, perhaps, my dear." He pointedly avoided Glorfindel's gaze. "Lord Glorfindel will teach you to ride a steed, first." The elf beside her bowed slightly in deference to his lord, but his rigid posture spoke volumes. Clearly he was not happy with this turn of events. Gwen wasn't certain she cared, at the moment. She needed to do this. "Now, come," Elrond intoned. "We shall get you to Dothiel to begin the study you so desire." He turned, expecting her to follow. For a moment, Gwen thought that Glorfindel would follow, but he did not. She paused, turned to the tall elf and looked up into his saddened, blazing eyes. Clearly he was not happy. Still, Glorfindel laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder, rubbing her hair beneath his long fingers.

"I would have you rest in comfort all of you days," he breathed, drawing her close only for a moment before releasing her and stepping back. A neutral look spread across his features, hiding his emotions and thoughts from her. His eyes flashed down to hers one last time.

"Be well, _lirimaer."_

* * *

Time passed and Gwen began to heal.

Rivendell was positively bustling with activity, and so was Gwen. _Finally. I thought Lord Elrond would never let me out of that room!_ She had been kept under the constant watchful gaze of Dothiel and other elven guards since she'd arrived – he seemed to think she would decide to throw herself off a cliff if he let her out of sight _._ Gwen had seen Glorfindel a time or two, watching her with his deeply blazing eyes. Seeing him made her ache, but she held back from speaking with him. Gwen was glad for their concern, but after a while she had grown restless for things to keep her occupied. Dothiel had begun to teach her needlepoint, which she found soothing. Oftentimes they would sit and talk together as they worked, and Gwen had grown fond of her company.

Things in the elven realm were changing, and even Gwen, who was as isolated as it got, could see it.

Many delegations of men, dwarves, and elves had responded to Lord Elrond's call to council for some urgent thing going on, Dothiel had explained to her. All the people milling about made her curious as to what was happening. She had been excited to see so many races of beings in one place, and Gwen wasn't sure she would ever get used to them.

The flood of individuals needing to be fed and sheltered threatened to overwhelm the servants, so Gwen volunteered her meager services, helping the cooks make giant batches of bread and sweet cake for the night's feast, and helping the seamstresses with the clothing repair that seemed to go on daily. Many of the men who'd arrived could be seen practicing their sword-fighting and archery skills in the courtyards; she'd sewn so many rips and rends in their tunics that Gwen shuddered every time she passed alcove and found more males brawling like children and tear each other to shreds.

But it was an exciting time for Rivendell, even if the days were growing darker and colder.

Things were happening so quickly Gwen could barely process her thoughts, much less her feelings, but all the activity kept her mind off her sadness. She had begun to smile and laugh again. And she learned everything she could, every day. Lord Elrond had begun to teach her herb lore and medicinal usages; Strider had shown her how to bind a wound and splint an arm, and Gandalf instructed her on all sorts of difficult things - languages and runes mostly. It seemed as if they had all turned a corner and the rifts between them began to heal. All the learning kept her mind busy, even as her hands remained filled with work.

Thus, in the last three days Gwen had little time for herself. It was a twofold blessing: she rarely had time to think about her loved ones so far away, and she was always so exhausted she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep every night. Though she still grieved for her life lost on Earth, her waking hours were more energetic and happy. It was a welcome change.

Gwen knocked on the chamber door softly, knowing the inhabitant inside would be resting and hating to bother him or her. She carried a tray piled high with steaming stew, a small mountain of bread and cheeses, and a flagon of ale. When Sam the hobbit opened the door, Gwen was surprised. Excited to see him, she smiled radiantly, lifting the heavy tray a little higher for purchase when it wobbled. "Sam! It's wonderful to see you," she greeted happily.

He stepped aside to allow her entrance, and she saw that Merry and Pippin were sitting on Frodo's bed, talking. When they caught sight of her placing the laden tray down on the round table in the middle of the room, they leaped off the bed, hugging her fiercely when her hands were free. Gwen hugged them joyfully in return, glad to see them happy and healthy and _clean_. She never thought she would focus so much on hygiene, but in Middle Earth it was one of things you had to think about and make time for – there was no quick routine as on Earth. Frodo watched his friends' interaction with a small smile on his solemn face as Sam, Merry and Pippin pestered Gwen about her activities since they had arrived at Rivendell.

She gave them the news that she wouldn't be going home anytime soon, with only a small bit of sadness, as Pippin whooped and hugged her round again. "I'm glad it's made you happy, Pip," she smiled, determined to dispel the sadness that lingered in her. "We'd gotten mighty fond of our Gwen, hadn't we boys?" he crowed, looking around at the others for support. The hobbits' innocent friendship made her feel warm inside.

Even Frodo nodded eventually, smiling as he rubbed his wounded shoulder. "Merry's right," he agreed. "It just wouldn't have been the same without Gwen to entertain us with stories of Fido the Wonder Dog or the Spider-Man. Who else knows those?" Merry chimed in, his eyes big with genuineness, and Sam added quietly, "And who else would help me with the cookin'?" He smiled crookedly, causing a curious melting in the region on Gwen's chest where her heart lay. _What good friends they are...maybe I'm not as alone as I thought I was._

Gwen fluffed Frodo's pillow before passing him the hot bowl of stew. "Lord Elrond sends his regards, Frodo. He wishes for you to attend the council, though he will not say what it is about." She gave him a pointed look, thinking of the ring and trying to ignore the silver chain that surrounded his neck. _Damned trinket._ She was determined to find out what that repulsive thing was doing with Frodo and what it was exactly, if only because it worried her that Frodo had to deal with it. Gwen had her suspicions that the council was more serious than anyone let on. At the other hobbits' hopeful looks, Gwen shook her head, "I'm afraid Lord Elrond has forbidden all others to attend," she said, a tad sad for them. _"_ I don't get to go either, boys," she added as a consolation.

Frodo didn't look too happy to have to go, however. She patted Frodo's hand. "It won't be too bad, I don't expect." She motioned to his nearly full bowl. "Eat that, and get your rest. I'll see all of you at the feast after the meeting. There is so much that needs to be done before then, too," she muttered as she went, closing the door behind her.

Indeed, there was, and it made her weary to think about it all. There were the ducks to pluck (most elves would not touch meat at all, she learned, and had agreed to cook it only for their foreign guests), the bread dough to form and bake, the massive six-tiered cake confection the cook needed help decorating. From there, she would need a bath – she and her working clothes were filthy. When she arrived, Gwen saw the kitchens were a swirling mass of active frenzy, servants rushing this way and that, trying to conclude their work so that they, too, could enjoy the night's feast.

It was past midday when Gwen had a chance to slip out of the kitchens and into her chamber to bathe. She smiled at Dothiel's preparedness and keen foresight, as the tub was already filled with piping hot water. A small table beside it held oil for her hair, a honey sugar scrub and a soft cloth. Gwen bathed in a hurry, wanting to spend her afternoon with the hobbits, who she knew by now were going absolutely stir crazy. She dressed in her riding pants and jerkin, knowing Glorfindel would begin his lessons after the council meeting. The idea of seeing the handsome elf again made her stomach flutter.

The leather breeches fit her like a glove, and were buttery soft. A linen shirt dyed a muted red molded to her arms and torso, and a leather jerkin fit over that. _Lady Arwen has very good taste._ Though they wouldn't be needed on this unusually warm fall day, there was a pair of gloves as well. Riding boots fit her feet snugly. Sighing with happiness at wearing pants again, Gwen fairly skipped from her room, eager to see the hobbits as she promised.

Oddly, when she knocked on the hobbits' doors, nobody answered at any of them. _Where could they have run off to?_ A faint niggling in the back of her mind had Gwen searching the outer courtyards and walkways near where the council was being held, and sure enough, she caught sight of hobbit feet sticking out of the bushes nearby the raised dais courtyard where the meeting was going on. _They are snooping! For shame!_

Aghast, Gwen sidled up to their hiding place. _I wish I had thought of that!_

"What are you three doing here, exactly?" She kept her voice low, aware of the elven delegations and their superior hearing. Merry jerked almost violently, but Gwen clapped a hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out. "We're listening," Sam murmured, obviously exasperated that he had to explain something so obvious. "Shhh." _Did Sam just really...?_ Shocked and amused by her friends, Gwen did as he asked and listened right along with them. _I can't believe I'm doing this!_

After a moment, she murmured, "We shouldn't be here, you know."

All three of the hobbits whispered, "Be quiet!" and went right back to listening. Gwen laughed softly, deciding to do just that, feeling only slightly guilty about breaking Elrond's orders. A human man was speaking to the group, now. She could feel the evil radiating outward from a pedestal in the center of the group of men, and knew the invisibility trinket lay upon it. Unknowingly to all the others, Gwen could see that the ring was subtly influencing the darker emotions of the group: greed, anger, resentment, jealousy. They were swirling about the man who was speaking, probing him to speak recklessly.

Startled, Gwen focused on his words. "In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark." He walked towards the ring, as if drawn to it. _This man is very susceptible to the ring, just like me._ "In the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, your doom is near at hand; Isildur's bane is found." He went to _touch_ the very thing she could not stand to look at, and she was convinced he was drawn to it. _Crazy man – that thing is evil incarnate!_

"Isildur's bane..." His voice was a low whisper. _He's going to touch it!_ She was curious what would happen if he did. Would the man disappear like Frodo?

Lord Elrond looked startled, and Gwen caught sight of a stoic Glorfindel on the other side of him, distracting her for a moment with his visage. _Pay attention, Gwendolyn_. "Boromir!" Before anyone could speak, a darkness fell over the land, and a booming voice uttered foul words that sucked the hope and love right from her chest, leaving her a shell of a woman. _Is that Gandalf speaking like that?_ She could see him standing, towering really, over the council.

She was crouching at the hobbit's level, and nearly toppled over from shock. _No, that's the ring speaking!_ Or was it? Whatever Gandalf was saying had a palpable effect on the gathering, and when he was done, Elrond passed a scathing look his way.

"Never before has that Black speech been uttered here, in Imladris." The entire gathering looked horrified. Gandalf looked merely repentant. _If the speech itself sounded so evil, the Ring must be tenfold._ "I do not beg your pardon, Master Elrond, for the speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west." He stared pointedly at the man named Boromir, who looked shocked and mildly chastened. "The Ring is altogether evil."

Boromir clearly disagreed, and she could see he was going to argue. Her estimation of the man went down a few points. "Nay, it is a gift! Why should we not use it to our advantage?" What was his angle? She couldn't help but wonder. _Uh, cuz it's evil..._

Even _she_ could feel it.

"For too long have I watched as the blood of Gondor's youth was spilled upon our city's stone walls. For too long have I sought a way to ease my people's burden. That trinket is a blessing from the gods!" _Well that's a slap in the face to the rest of them, innit?_ "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, and let us use it against him!"

Strider spoke up, clearly, and she thought he looked rather pissed off at the other man. "It would destroy all that you seek to keep safe, Lord Boromir. It is evil, and will answer only to Sauron." _Why was that? Was it somehow tied to Sauron?_ Gwen struggled to piece everything she knew together. Gwen wanted to slap the sneer that formed then off of the Gondorian's face. Did he realize he looked about as dumb as a box of rocks?

"And what would a ranger know of this?" _God that guy is arrogant!_ A golden-haired elf stood and spoke to Strider's defense. "This is no mere ranger," the elf spat. "No simple traveler from the north." _Oh really?_ Now she was really interested. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The elf's voice turned faintly sneering. "You owe him your allegiance." _First Strider..then Estel..now Aragorn? How many names does he have? Sheesh. And what was that about allegiance?_

Boromir looked just as shocked as she did. "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?" _Why is that important?_ She had so many questions, but could hardly keep up as it was. The elf stood defiantly in front of the man. "And heir to the throne of Gondor!" _Holy shit! Strider..no, Aragorn is a king? No way.._ But Aragorn didn't deny the claim, instead calling for peace between the two males. " _Havo dad, Legolas."_ He waved a hand, clearly wanting him to stop. Gwen couldn't blame him; she wouldn't want her dirty laundry aired out in front of a gathering like this either. But it did make her wonder: _why hide such information?_

She shifted, her knees beginning to ache from crouching beside Merry for so long.

"The ring must be destroyed. Only in the fires of Mount Doom can this be done; it must be taken deep within Mordor." Elrond was speaking again, she heard. "One of you must do this," he decreed. At his words, the undercurrents of malice and evil emanating from the ring strengthened, but nobody seemed to feel it but her. Boromir protested, "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs and wraiths, though they are difficult enough to pass – it is worse still," he exclaimed incredulously. "There is evil there that does not sleep, and the great eye is ever watchful. 'Tis a barren wasteland, a place of fire and death itself, and there all life turns to dust. The very air you _breathe_ is a poisonous fume to one's lungs. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly." His fears were being heightened by the ring, and she could feel the Ring's pull on him grow stronger. _Why can't he feel that? It's so clear!_

The elf, Legolas, jumped up from his seat, his features angry. "Has your lust of the Ring closed your ears as well as your mind? The ring must be destroyed!" That seemed like unusual behavior for an elf. Gwen rarely ever saw them truly angry. _Oookay, the ring is definitely causing this male posturing._

A red-bearded dwarf replied snarkily, "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it, yes, wee elfling?" It was clear he meant it as an insult. "I certainly hope you are nothing like your father, then. He was a coward, and I'll bet you are too," he sneered. Gwen flinched at the elf's answering snarl. _Why are they fighting like this?_

Boromir stood angrily, ignoring the elves and dwarves bickering. He looked ready to fight. "And if we fail, what then?" he demanded. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" The waves of malice pouring from the ring were making her ill, and she swayed dangerously as nausea rose potently in her gut. The hobbits looked at her in concern while the situation in the meeting area devolved into argument further. Oh _god, can't they feel what it's doing to them?_

She cried out weakly, but it was unheard in the rising argument. The bearded dwarf had jumped to his feet. "I will be dead before I see the ring in the hands of a _cowardly elf!_ " His outburst let loose the dam of all the men, elves and dwarves involved, and everyone jumped up and began to argue save Frodo, who looked just as distressed as she felt. "Never trust an elf!"

 _Oh god._ Gwen eyesight blackened momentarily at the sharp rise in the Ring's glee, and she thought she would faint. The ring was chanting now, evil, vile words. _No! The Ring cannot be allowed to continue this. I have to do_ something! Eyesight hazy, she stumbled out from the bushes in which she was hidden with the hobbits. "I will take it!" She screamed. _They'd sooner kill me first._ She knew it was true, but if her appearance ended this terrible fighting, more the better for them all. They all looked at her like she was a crazy apparition, but Gwen knew she had to stop this madness, even if it killed her to do so. _They are going to destroy their relationships, and then Sauron will have won even without the ring! I'll take the damn thing, if it will stop this infernal fighting._

Even Gandalf was angrily arguing with Boromir. "I will take the Ring! Stop fighting!" she cried. The din died down then, _finally,_ and Elrond was watching her keenly, stonily. He clearly disapproved of her appearance among them. Still, Gwen forged ahead while she had their attention. "I'll take the damn thing," she cried, heedless of her language. "Might as well get the only blow I can to the bastard who got me here while I can."

Humor rose in Strider's eyes when she met his gaze, but Elrond shook his head. "You cannot take it, Gwendolyn. You are utterly repulsed by it's influence, and it would never abide by your carrying it. It must be someone else that does this. Beyond that..." He trailed off with a heavy sigh. "Beyond that, this is not a matter for you." Gwen wanted to protest, but couldn't form an argument to fight him with. It _was_ true, the ring made her ill just seeing it. Gwen doubted she could get out of Rivendell with the thing. _But 'not her matter?'_ She disagreed! Wasn't she stuck here now? If she couldn't go home, she definitely didn't want to see Sauron destroy the only world left to her. "I beg your pardon, Lord Elrond, but you've told me I'm stuck here." The other attendees of the council were confused by her words, but she heedlessly continued, knowing he would understand her.

"I don't want to see Sauron win any more than you do, and if that means throwing the stupid thing in a volcano I'll do it." Elrond cut off her words with a fierce movement, and for the first time she saw his anger. "You _will not do this thing_ ," he thundered. "I will not allow it." His eyes were blazing, and Gwen saw she was defeated. _Well now what? Got anything left in your brilliant plan?_

"I will take it," came a softly spoken voice. Sorrow for her friend filled Gwen's heart, knowing all the more now that the Ring would be the heaviest of burdens. Frodo looked at her solemnly. "I knew you felt it too, that first day with the wraiths." All the eyes of the council watched them keenly, and she felt suddenly like a bug under a microscope. An unwelcome bug. _Maybe I should have stayed hidden after all. Shit._

* * *

 _Havo dad, Legolas_ : Sit down, Legolas.

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Please review.


	12. A Meeting of Minds, Part Two

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Eleven: A Meeting of Minds, Part Two**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Gwen could feel Glorfindel's stormy gaze on her. Clearly, no one was happy with her presence there in the council area. _Crap._

"You should not be here!" Boromir's voice thundered out of the silence that followed her appearance. He seemed to speak for all of them. Strider – no, Aragorn, looked surprised, and disappointed, at her presence. All eyes were upon her, and Gwen fought the urge to shuffle her weight and flush scarlet with embarrassment. She held out her hands in supplication "I know I'm not supposed to be here," she rushed out, "But it's a good thing I was! You idiots were about to devolve into an all-out brawl over this stupid piece of gold, and you couldn't seem to feel that thing," she stabbed at the air towards the ring, "pushing you to it."

Elrond looked at her, the anger in his face lingering, but he seemed willing to listen to her, as he always was. She had learned a lot about him in their time in his study, talking about plants and herbs. He was a logical elf, with more human compassion in him than most. He seemed to be staring at the golden band on the pedestal, considering. "You could feel this...push that the rest of us cannot?" He asked. Gwen rubbed a hand down her breeches, conscious of everyone's eyes on her, some accusing and some thoughtful. "Yes. It was...whispering, almost," she admitted. "Speaking. I could feel the undercurrents of hatred and evil coming from it, as clearly as I can feel my own heartbeat. It was affecting your words and actions, and to watch it do so was painful." Gandalf stepped forward, a small, knowing smile on his face as he peered down at her.

"I, too, have felt this undercurrent. It is very curious that you are so sensitive to it. Indeed, it was a blessing that you intervened."

Frodo had been standing forlornly for the past minutes, and Gwen was afraid his courage would fail him if his offer to carry the Ring wasn't answered soon. _He offered to take the horrible thing god-knows how far, and they waste time on me. Humph._ "Frodo, you were speaking?" Elrond wanted to move things along apparently. After a moment, Frodo jerked his head in an approximation of a nod. Gwen nudged him slightly and he looked up and into her eyes before looking at the council.

"I will take the ring to Mordor," he offered tentatively. He seemed to be concerned as to how his offer would be received. "Though, I know not the way." He looked to Gandalf then, who smiled painfully and leaned on his staff in response. Lord Elrond looked curiously pleased at his words, while Gandalf and Aragorn shared looks of slight sadness. _Oh so it's fine that he takes it but not me? Jeez!_ _Frodo should not have to do this, not after his wound._

Gandalf laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder in support, smiling at the little hobbit. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo." Aragorn sighed heavily, and moved forward to pledge himself as well. Gwen could scarcely fathom how dangerous such a quest would be for them. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, Frodo, I will." He strode forward and placed his hand upon the hobbit's shoulder. "You have my sword." The elf Legolas moved forward without a sound. "And my bow, such as it is." The red-bearded dwarf who's name Gwen did not know also stepped forward, much to her surprise. "And my axe!" _He certainly wields it like he means it.._

The thought made her chuckle to herself. Legolas scowled, making it quite clear what he thought of the dwarf joining this quest. _Frodo will need all the help he can get, though, big guy._ An idea bubbled up in Gwen's mind, and she turned it over carefully. _I want to go with them. I want to know more about this land – and maybe meet the other elves who can help me get home in the process._ Boromir looked unhappily around at all the attendees, silent, before moving to look down at Frodo himself. "Your burden is heavy indeed," he said heavily. The big man looked to Lord Elrond. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, Gondor will see it done," he pledged. Gwen's estimation of him rose a little.

The group was silent as the group of warriors sized one another up. No others offered up their pledges to the quest. The stillness was broken by a muffled shout from behind a nearby bush _._ _Oh crap...Sam...Merry...Pippin!_ She shot Lord Elrond a guilty look, knowing she would be held responsible for this as well. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" Sam cried, running up to join the group. He crossed his arms and tried his best to look determined. Gwen could see he was nervous, and couldn't stifle a giggle. Glorfindel shot her a withering look that made her recoil inwardly. _He's not happy with me at all._ The idea made her sad, as she had come to be very fond of the elf, given their more private moments.

"Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you two," Lord Elrond began wryly, "Even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." He shot them both stern, knowing glances. Gwen pinkened. Merry and Pippin ran up behind Gwen, nearly knocking her over in their haste to be seen. "We're coming too! You'd have to tie us up in a sack to stop us," they declared. _Now I really have to go with them...if Merry and Pippin can go, surely I can. They have no more skills than I do!_

Gwen had discovered that the two hobbits were considered little more than children in their world. "I'm afraid that means I'm going too, Lord Elrond," she said quietly. At his disbelieving look, she elaborated. "You can't expect me to sit around here safe and cozy while my only friends _in the world_ are off on some perilous quest, can you?" The elf lord looked scalded. "Besides," she continued, "You said others in elvendom may know how to help me. That means I have to travel a little bit, at least." Aragorn and Boromir protested at the same time, their voices blending.

"You can't let her go, she'll be hurt!"

"She'll get us all killed!"

Gwen shot both men withering looks, highly affronted, but focused her attention on Lord Elrond, the only one who had the power to deny her fully. "I can learn," she declared. "I _will_ learn. Please, Lord Elrond, I can learn all that I'll need to know to be a help and not a hindrance." Lord Elrond knew how strongly she desired make a life for herself here in Middle Earth, rather than to live just in limbo between the two worlds she knew. His eyes softened just a fraction, but his gaze never wavered. "I do not see the wisdom in allowing you this, Gwendolyn," he admitted. "The road is very dangerous."

 _He's not going to let me go!_ Her heart sank.

Unexpectedly, Gandalf came to her defense and agreed with her idea. "Master Elrond, I must say I disagree," he said wryly. "I see much wisdom in her traveling with us. Gwendolyn will be no more of a hindrance than our hobbit friends, who have no knowledge of combat themselves. They can all learn. I say allow her to go." The wizard, Gwen had learned, was highly regarded, and it was no small potatoes thing that he would support her. Her heart soared with hope. Elrond looked deeply into Gandalf's eyes for long moments, his face tense. _They must be communicating again._ After this, his face relaxed and he acquiesced. Sighing, he announced:

"I do not believe this is the choice to make, Gwendolyn, but I can hardly force you to stay. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." Lord Elrond locked his eyes with hers and she was shocked to find them saddened. Glorfindel's gaze was closed to her, emotionless. Gwen shivered as he looked at her, unable to tell what he was thinking. Pippin broke the short silence following the elf's announcements.

"Does this mean we get to eat? I'm starving!" The others laughed.

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 _Please review!_


	13. Lessons

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Twelve: Lessons**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. ~Carl Sagan_

* * *

 _November 1st,_

 _Year 2018 of the Third Age_

A week after the council meeting, Gwen had fully accepted that Glorfindel was angry with her.

Lord Elrond had previously ordered that he instruct Gwen in horseback riding and in the handling of a sword, and as such they had been forced into frequent contact with one another. At first she had been excited to work with the serious elf with whom she felt a genuine, deep connection, but as their time spent together soon proved to be less than ideal, Gwen's feelings had slowly begun to darken to apprehensiveness towards every lesson. _He doesn't speak to me, except if I ask a direct question! And even then, it's as short a response as possible. He doesn't look at me if he can help it, and he certainly doesn't seem to enjoy being around me. He's so...cold to me now!_

She couldn't fathom what she had done to deserve the icy treatment from him. Sure, he had been upset that she was at the council meeting when she shouldn't have been, but surely he was more mature about things than to stay angry over something like that! The last time she had been around him, he had been almost...intimate with her. Alluring. Certainly controlled, but never rigid or cool towards her. Exactly the opposite, in fact. He had always been warm and caring with her. Gwen found she disliked this distant, dispassionate Glorfind _e_ l a great deal. She had put up with his exceptionally distant tutelage for too long. _I'm going to talk to him. There's no point in continuing to be around him if he's going to treat me like that!_ She pulled her riding boots on with a _thud_ as her foot hit the floor. _I can find another tutor, I'm sure. If I have to,_ she assured herself determinedly.

Grabbing her gloves, Gwen exited her chambers and made her way to the stables, where she knew Lord Stuffy-Pants would be waiting with his cloak of indifference shrouding him. On her way through the courtyard, she ran into Legolas, who was, judging by the bow and quiver he was carrying, heading to the training grounds to practice his archery. She couldn't help but admire the detailed workmanship of his bow, nor the competent manner in which he held it. _He's so comfortable with it, I doubt he even puts any thought into his handling of it at all._ Legolas, seeing her there, raised a hand in silent greeting before changing his path to speak with her.

She found the elf to be charming and gentle, which was certainly ironic if one considered his deadly skill with the bow. He was one warrior she would never want to find herself up against. He had, during an impromptu dance at the council feast, offered to instruct her in the basics of archery, if she so desired. Given her increased need to participate and participate _well_ , she had readily accepted. _Anything to get my mind off home._ Her sadness came and went in spurts, and lately it seemed to come rather than go. Gwen had gotten rather used to the constant companion that was her grief.

She had yet to begin her training in archery, however, since Glorfindel kept her so busy, not to mention nearly exhausted, all the time. It had been both a blessing and a curse, as she hadn't been allowed further time to wallow in self-pity since the council meeting had occurred, but she had to be around the new, cold Glorfindel. It was so unpleasant.

Luckily, Legolas had assured her that archery was half physical, half mental, and that it would not be nearly as demanding as riding and sword play were. " _'Quel amrun, Gwendolyn_." He was also keen on teaching her Sindarin, and thus refused to speak to her in Westron, except when she became frustrated and needed a break. She had learned a few phrases so far. " _'Quel amrun, Legolas._ Ah..." Gwen blushed, unable to remember more than the simple greeting. _Elvish is so difficult!_ Her tongue tripped over the complicated words, and she felt herself turning red.

Legolas let her off the hook, laughing at her struggle good-naturedly. "Practice will only help. Worry not." He paused, taking in her clothing. "Where are you off to on this fine morning, little _elen_?" He had taken to calling her a pet name in his language, but hadn't told her what it meant. Aragorn, too, delighted in this game, and while she was beyond curious as to what they called her, she simply enjoyed the positive attention and let it go for the time being. She sighed, making a face.

"I am meeting Glorfindel for a riding lesson. I think he is teaching me how to care for a horse today." Gwen shook her head, unsure of the information since the older elf rarely spoke to her these days. The thought made her a bit sad, and Legolas quickly caught the emotion as it spread so clearly on her face, and sought to erase it.

"You should be done after the noon meal, yes?" At her nod, he smiled, pleased. "We can begin your _other_ training if you like." He lifted his bow slightly to indicate his meaning. Delighted, and her sadness temporarily forgotten, Gwen agreed to meet the Woodland elf later before bidding the ellon goodbye with a hasty, " _Namaarie._ "

Glorfindel hated to be kept waiting. _And Lord knows the wrath I'll face if I'm late._

* * *

His countenance was, of course, stony when he caught sight of her on the path leading to the elegant stables housing the horses. Nonetheless, Gwen found him to be exceedingly handsome, as always. To be so attracted to him made her predicament that much worse. "I expect my pupils to be on time when there is a scheduled lesson," he intoned coldly, and it struck Gwen as snotty and icy. She passed the tall ellon without a word, her own face hardening with temper. If he wanted to be that way with her, she would be cold to him as well!

She entered the stables quietly, knowing the mares that were housed there preferred calm and quiet to noise, though they were trained to be responsive even through the worst of distractions. Her riding partner, a beautiful dapple gray mare, poked her narrow, elegantly-formed head over the stall door as she heard Gwen come in, huffing a greeting softly at the sight of her in the doorway. _She's such a pretty girl._ The sight of her warmed Gwen considerably. "Hi, baby," she murmured lowly, stroking her neck gently. Gwen had grown fond of the sweet-tempered horse. Glorfindel stomped into the stables after her, though he made no sound at all.

"I don't like to be ignored, Gwendolyn." Glorfindel broke the pleasant silence and peace of the stables with his cold tone. Irritation flashed through her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing at the elf. "I am not ignoring you, Lord Glorfindel. I am merely greeting my friend." Gwen laughed softly when the mare bumped her chest with her nose, and she wished the surly-acting elf would not be so off-putting. She had a difficult enough time learning everything she needed to know for a life on Middle Earth without him mucking it up further with his black mood and swinging attentions. _Just last week he was acting as if he cared, and now...this? It doesn't make any sense._ Grabbing a hard comb, she made to brush out her horse's coarse hair.

Glorfindel paused what might have been a jerky motion of the comb through the mare's mane. "You would hurt her, were you to pass through her hair with such a motion." His warm fingers belied the coldness of his voice, closing over her own and easing the comb from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

"I..I..didn't." She hadn't even been thinking, and she certainly didn't mean to do anything to hurt the sweet mare. But the elf didn't care about that, she could see. His face was hardened in anger towards her. Her own hurt refused to be subdued when Glorfindel jerked his hand from hers as if touching her was repugnant to him. He turned from her sharply, busying himself collecting the tools they would need for her lesson while Gwen blinked back tears. When she could speak steadily, she distracted herself by talking softly to her horse. She could all but _feel_ Glorfindel's anger toward her, and it made her upset.

"Today you'll be squeaky clean...yes you will!" Gwen used the horse as a buffer between them. The mare seemed content to lay her head against Gwen's bosom, and she whispered sweet-nothings into the horse's ears. "Bring her out into the sun, if you can manage it." Glorfindel's cold voice caused her to stiffen. Wordlessly, she bridled the horse as she'd painstakingly practiced before, unlatched the gate and lead her companion out into the open, where the tall ellon was waiting with a bucket of warm soapy water, the comb, and a densely-bristled brush.

He stared at her, icy eyes hard, as she led the horse to where he wanted. After the briefest of pauses, Glorfindel instructed her to wash and brush the horse, which he insisted would take much of the morning. "My presence is, thankfully, required elsewhere," he stated cruelly. "When you are finished, be sure to lock the gate." Without another word, he pivoted on one heel and strode away, leaving her clutching the reins with shaking hands. Rising tears kept her from calling him back, knowing he would only have more hurtful things to say. _He wouldn't have the power to hurt you if you didn't give it to him, Gwen! Obviously he's an arrogant, insensitive beast! You are worth better than that._

So, determined to enjoy the beauty of the morning in the company of a loving animal, Gwen took her time caring for her mare. Gently she soaped the horse's coat with oiled water, trying her best not to soak herself in the process. The mare seemed to enjoy this treatment, stomping a delicate hoof whenever she passed over an itchy spot with the sponge. Gwen giggled at the horse, her previous emotion temporarily forgotten. Before she knew it, the sun had dried the mare's coat to a glossy shine, and she was working her way gently through the snares and tangles of her mane and tail.

Her lower back and hips were aching dully by the time she placed the horse back into the stall and locked it securely. Standing and bending had taken its toll, and not for the first time, Gwen cursed her apparent human, _female_ weakness. _I'll never be able to survive traveling with the Fellowship if I don't buck up._

Her biggest fear was being a hindrance to her friends, and in such an important quest, that had to be avoided at all costs. She knew she would never have the inhuman strength and dexterity of the elves and dwarves, nor the hardiness of the Rangers and hobbits, but she did have her inner strength, her efforts, and her will to be better. _That has to count for something, right?_

Pushing the thoughts of self-doubt away, she meandered the walkways of Rivendell, enjoying the crisp morning. Inner peace was hard to come by on most days, but in those moments she came close, secure in the knowledge that she was not perfect, never would be, and could only expect herself to be better tomorrow. The encouraging thought made Gwen smile.

"Have you finished your task this morning?" Glorfindel's cold voice crashed over her in an icy tide, shattering the hard-won peace of the moment. Gwen whirled to face him, her face slack with surprise. Regaining her composure quickly, Gwen nodded, continuing to walk as if he had not spoken to her. _Just ignore him, Gwendolyn. He can't ruin your mood if you don't let him._

"I asked you a question, woman." Large hands whirled her around to face him, but didn't release her. She was forced to stand under his dark gaze, knowing she didn't have the strength to force him away from her. Glorfindel seemed to have forgotten his own strength. Long-buried memories surfaced at the ellon's harsh words. _"I asked you a question, you whore."_ A slap to the face, the pain acute across her cheekbones as if it had just happened. She had forgotten her attacker had done that. Something in quaked at the reminder, cowering away from Glorfindel in a way not physically seen.

"Gwen?" Glorfindel's hands slackened on her arms, and Gwen, unaware the elf could read the risen shadows in her eyes, pulled away, no longer seeing the beauty of the morning, nor feeling that precious moment of peace.

"What? Oh...I...yes, Lord Glorfindel. The mare has been properly attended to, just as you instructed." Gwen stood demurely in front of him, unaware that he had gone slack. After a moment, Gwen pulled away entirely. She didn't look back at the startled male as she strode into the bustling dining area. Glorfindel stood, a stoic sentinel in the walkway, wondering what on Middle Earth he had said that had forced those ghosts into her eyes, had caused her spirit to recoil so harshly from his, and feeling more than a little guilty about it.

* * *

The noon meal passed with little incident.

Gwen's mood greatly improved over the course of the hour, and her interaction with the cold elven lord was all but forgotten. The broad smile she had carried through lunch as she listened to the hobbits' drinking songs faltered as she remembered the exchange. _Damn it all, stop thinking about it, Gwendolyn! What's done is done. He couldn't have known what impact his words would have._ _Not even you knew._ Those memories were supposed to be dead and buried. _They are dead and buried._

Aragorn joined the group beside her, passing her a warm smile when Gwen handed him the basket of warm rolls. "These are the best," she whispered conspiratorially in his ear. "I've had four already!" He cast a playful side glance to her, and said, "I hear you'll start your weapons training this afternoon." One of the most pleasant aspects of her stay in Rivendell was forging a relationship with Aragorn. He was a truly kind, funny man when she got to know him, and it seemed that, as Aragorn, he didn't have to work so hard to hide who he was as he had done as Strider. She enjoyed his company a good deal.

His gray eyes twinkled, and she smiled back at him. "You'll need your strength, so keep eating." On the other side of the hobbits, Gimli and Boromir looked interested in their conversation, though Gwen didn't miss Boromir's disapproving glance down at her. He had obviously heard Aragorn's comment. Gwen knew he didn't approve of her in the Fellowship because she was a woman, and to some degree understood his reasons, however backward they might be. Legolas sat across from Aragorn, a slight smile gracing his gorgeous features. Legolas and Aragorn, she discovered, had a long friendship going back many years.

"Aragorn, I promised her a lesson in archery today," the elf said proudly. The bearded Ranger looked surprised. "Well there's nothing else for it then, is there?" He winked at her. "She'll just have to handle us both!" Gwen gaped at the human in shock. _I can't even hold a weapon, much less 'handle them both!'_ Apprehension filled her, but she blushed when they all roared with laughter, causing many of the elves in the room to glance at them curiously. Aragorn patted her back.

"It was a jest, Gwen. Are you ready to see the training grounds?" Nodding, she rose and followed the ranger out of the room, leaving the rest of the warriors to trail their path. Gwen didn't notice a pair of elven eyes follow her from the room, nor did she feel their hot, possessive weight.

* * *

 _Quel amrun_ :: Good morning _._

* * *

 _Read and review._


	14. Clash of Wills

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _I decided to post the few chapters I have this week early. There's only a couple, due to the fact that I haven't had my computer with me to be able to edit and really enjoy writing. Moving's hard!_

 _Just a quick note – I adore Boromir as a character. He is honorable and flawed and wonderful. As you read this chapter just keep in mind that Gwen's point of view is equally flawed, and her perceptions of Boromir and other characters will change as she ages and matures through this journey._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Thirteen: Clash of Wills  
**

 **By:** ** _Sherrywine_**

* * *

"Ouch! Boromir, you ass!" Gwen cried out in pain. "That could have been my head!"

She lay sprawled out on the smooth, frozen dirt surface of the training circle, staring belligerently up at her sparring partner, who looked perfect despite their sweaty dueling match. She hated him somewhat for that. _He's easily three times my size and very experienced! OF COURSE he's going to wipe the floor with me._ It was his smug arrogance in the face of her failures that Gwen disliked about him. The Gondorian was very nearly trying to kill her with his esteemed prowess.

"It wasn't, though, was it?" He didn't sound the slightest bit upset for her. She made a noise in her throat, but didn't bother to get up again just yet, knowing from experience he would send her down again, over and over. The big Gondorian warrior was unrepentant in his behavior towards her. She knew he considered his hard treatment of her in the sparring ring _good character building_ , and he pulled none of his punches – ever. Not that she really truly wanted him to – she wanted to learn how to do this fighting thing - but damn if he didn't wear her out, and half the time she came away from their sparring pissed off. More than any other member of the Fellowship, Boromir had resisted the idea of her training in weaponry and for a good while after the council's end, but he had come around to the idea eventually – at least enough to step into the ring, and seemed to garner a certain enjoyment out of making her ache – and not in a good way, either.

"You just can't go light on me can you?" she groused in a black temper, using the moment of downtime to catch her breath. The handsome warrior's eyes grew flinty. " _You_ are the one who wanted to be trained, Gwendolyn," he taunted maddeningly. She could see he wasn't playing, and her temper flared to life. He had seemed to think she was too fragile for battle from the beginning of his lessons. _And I guess he'd know, wouldn't he? He's been fighting orcs since I was a baby._

The thought made her a little depressed. Still, she was a grown woman, if barely so by Earth standards, and he seemed to think she wasn't good enough for anything. She was determined to prove him wrong. "Take your moment's rest, girl," he said heavily at last, and bent to retrieve his blade from the ground, leaving Gwen to grit her teeth and force back her anger. They had been at each others' throats, both figuratively and literally, for weeks now. He seemed opposed to everything she was trying to do with her life here, and had made little secret of his disapproval of her traveling with the Fellowship. He had almost refused to help train her, Gwen knew – but Elrond had requested it personally, and it seemed even the surly human wasn't immune to elvish persuasion.

A chilly breeze swept through the grounds, making her shiver. _Winter is definitely here._ She was filthy with sweat and grime, and her limbs ached from the raining blows she had blocked over and over again in the last hour, but she refused to back down and admit she was exhausted – to hell with giving Boromir more ammunition to use against her. Her shirt was torn at the sleeve, and would need mending, the thought of which put her in even more of a foul mood. Boromir didn't look the slightest bit remorseful that she lay there. In fact, he looked quite satisfied. _Prick._

Ever the gentleman whatever his other beliefs about women, Boromir offered her a hand up, which she took gratefully. Gwen's back throbbed from where she hit the ground particularly hard, and she rubbed it with a glare at the man responsible. _You definitely asked for this, though!_ He only smiled beautifully at her, knowing her temper was heating up and enjoying it immensely. Gwen shoved his arm off of hers in disgust. He moved like greased lightning to catch her with a muscle-corded arm around her throat, effectively trapping her movements without harming her. _He easily could, though._

She felt a trickle of unease down her spine at the thought. It was in times like these she was more aware than ever her physical limitations. A ferocious will to never again be at a man's mercy filled her, and Boromir's grip was gentle, if unmovable, putting her firmly in his mercy; she twisted in the practiced move Aragorn had taught her for such situations. "What the _hell_ , Boromir?" Boromir's grip slackened as she applied pressure steadily to his hand, forcing his arm from her body and allowing her to break away from the larger man. He looked downright _pleased_ at her efforts. She had had about enough of his smug superiority.

"The enemies we face outside these walls will not be so kind as I, Lady Gwen," he uttered seriously. "You must. be. faster. Again!" He hadn't dropped the formalities in the months they had known each other, either, and she scowled automatically at the honorific.

"How many times have I told you, Boromir?," she spat in frustration. "I'm no lady." She dropped into a perfect defensive stance, waiting for Boromir's attack. He smirked at her. "Then what are you, Lady Gwen?" His sword lay deceptively at his side, but she could see his grip adjusting for the attack. She had trained in the use of a sword for months – long, hard months. Those months had seemed endless, and she _still_ had not grasped attacking another vigorously or with any effort. It scared her, attacking something.

Aragorn and Boromir had tried everything to help her, but thus far, nothing had changed, and despite himself, Boromir was worried for her. He would never admit it to her, but he _would_ continue to push her. So they continued to practice... _hard._ Before she could answer his taunt, Boromir surprised her and attacked with a broad upswing, and they were off again, sparring in the ring. From the sidelines, Aragorn watched, pipe in hand, together with Gimli and Legolas. "Your parries are better than ever, Gwen," he called encouragingly. He held back a chuckle at his friend as she huffed her hair from her face in temper. He had learned from experience that she would not be appreciative of his compliments right now, as she was having to maintain all her concentration to defend herself; Gwen would utterly furious if he caused her to lose too quickly by distracting her.

Gimli wisely did not join Aragorn in ribbing her. Instead, he watched the sparring match carefully, murmuring comments every so often that only the elf and the Ranger could hear. In his world, women rarely were even seen, much less fighters, but the dwarf had adjusted quickly to the idea of her being with them. He withheld his judgment as to her usefulness, however. "Her attacks are not strong enough. See how she barely thrusts? She makes no true effort to attack. What will the wee girl do if the foe is real, I wonder?" he rasped in his thick dwarven brogue. "I fear she will be killed almost instantly." The dwarf fondled the enormous growth of his beard, eyes serious as they watched the match progress anew.

The little human's strength was clearly flagging.

"Boromir is pulling his swings; there, you see? At the end." Legolas shook his head, eyes concerned, too, for the girl. Not for the first time, he doubted Lord Elrond's wisdom in allowing her to accompany them. For once, the dwarf and the elf were agreeing on something. Aragorn smirked, but said nothing to either of them, only watching them all carefully. He sighed a moment later when Gwen landed hard on the ice and melting snow with a groan. _She's not ready for_ _battle._ He felt it in his gut.

"She is better with a bow," the Prince of the Greenwood allowed, kindly. Aragorn glanced at his elven friend, his eyes thoughtful. "Really? Or are you being merely forgiving, Legolas?" The woodland elf, eyes following the girl's movements carefully, elaborated, "She hits the target she's aiming for eight out of ten times, and sometimes does even better than that. She is very consistent in her stance, though sometimes she likes to plant her feet too widely, which makes her aim sometimes...fly off altogether. She comes close to center half the time, but never dead on."

Aragorn puffed a few smoke rings out, silently considering his old friend's summation. For a beginning, that _wasn't_ bad. Legolas tilted his head to meet his concerned eyes.

"Aragorn..." the elf began in that serious way of his, "It is a matter of lack of practice, not an incapability. She does do better every time. She has learned well for her time training with us." Legolas had come to know Gwen perhaps better than Strider in those months they had spent at the archery range, and he genuinely enjoyed her company. He admired her resolve and determination. The elf's eyes grew more solemn as he returned it to Gwen and Boromir in the training ring.

"We have lived our entire lives this way," he said at last. "She has not. Boromir expects too much of her too quickly," he added, with an edge to his voice. Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgment, but didn't reply, and Gimli grunted as Gwen was knocked on her ass hard by a low swing. Legolas winced. " _Och_ , but it's a wonder she has'na cracked her wee tailbone yet," Gimli crooned sympathetically.

Gwen lay on the ground, panting, clearly winded, but she rolled swiftly out from under the downward stroke meant to end the duel at the last second. "She has a will of iron, for so little a girl. Look how quickly she springs up again!" Dwarves appreciated such things. Boromir ruthlessly sent her sprawling again, but Gwen again scrambled back onto her feet, this time limping, baring her teeth fiercely at the Gondorian. "She defies him, even knowing he is the victor," Gimli crowed again. She held her sword aloft, thought her arms trembled noticeably, and Aragorn was moved by her determination not to give in to her weariness.

"You sound as though you are speaking not of swordplay, Master Dwarf, but of another play altogether." Lord Elrond's dulcet tones filtered into their conversation, startling even Legolas with his tongue-in-cheek jest. The elven lord moved silently towards them, followed some distance away by the hobbits and Gandalf. They had come to see the training, apparently. Gimli flushed scarlet at the elven lord's insinuation. He hadn't meant his words in such a manner. His reply was cut off by a fierce battle cry – Gwen's. Instantly she had everyone's attention; the elven lord, very interested, joined the three companions at the circle, watching Gwen's efforts against the seasoned human warrior intently.

It was clear at first glance she would lose, but she wasn't making it very easy for Boromir to land a winning blow. Lord Elrond studied her movements with the practiced eye of an old warrior: keenly. She was, by his estimation, showing great will and determination, even if her skill, stamina, and strength needed improvement.

"Pippin! Give me that!" Merry cried, voice filtering across the grass. Some ways off, across the courtyard, Sam and Frodo watched, amused, as Pippin ran around like a toddler with a scroll of parchment that unfurled in the wind to reveal a map of Middle Earth. Merry chased him, clearly wanting the item back, but was unable to catch the smaller, faster hobbit. The rowdy byplay between Merry and Pippin grew quiet as they became aware of the clash of swords ahead. Merry snatched the map from his cousin's hands at his first chance, mumbling nasty words at his cousin. Gandalf followed them closely, chuckling.

They joined the circle a moment later, but no one spoke to greet them, so engrossed were they in the fierce fight occurring before them. The clang of swords meeting one another was their only greeting call, and for a while, the battle was the Fellowship's only focus.

For as hard and as often as Boromir's sword met Gwen's, she repelled the strokes. She made only slight efforts to attack him, instead choosing to focus on defending herself. The force her opponent was throwing into every blow was becoming harder to match, and for long moments he seemed to want her blood fiercely. Gwen knew the precise moment her parries failed, and her arms turned to jelly. She collapsed under the weight of his blow, falling to her knees in defeat. At last, Boromir had crushed her defenses with his strong attacks. Gwen was thoroughly disgusted by her performance, but Boromir seemed pleased, and was _grinning_ at her. The sight of it made Gwen livid with rage. _I wanna wipe that shit-eating grin off his smarmy face..he practically killed me to prove a point!_

She struggled to her feet weakly, trembling fiercely, glaring at the hand Boromir offered her and turning away altogether. Gwen gaped at the sight of the others standing there, who obviously had enjoyed watching the match. _Oh great. They all saw that...humiliation._ Panting, Gwen tried not to look embarrassed. Gandalf, however, looked quite pleased, and brought his hands together as if to clap. "You are learning well, Gwen," he complimented. He seemed to see her displeasure. "Do not trouble yourself over petty wins and losses. Practice will ingratiate your newly learned knowledge into effortless motion with time." Lord Elrond's normally serious countenance broke apart slightly at her scowl, and he suppressed a smile.

"Gandalf speaks the truth, _elen,"_ _he called._ "You have greatly improved since your first day here."

He paused, his eyes trailing from each fellowship member to another, and it was clear he had something to say. Curious, Gwen and Boromir came closer, and the circle closed around the elven lord. He was solemnly silent for a few heartbeats, as if collecting his words carefully.

"I have news," he began at last, "And it is fortunate that I have found you all together here and now." Gwen felt the sudden surge in anxiety amongst the others, and wondered if it was her own or the others. _Or both._ _Clearly this news affected them all._ She studied the men around her carefully, but each face was smooth and nearly emotionless, save for Merry and Pippin, who were still bickering over the map quietly when no one was looking at them.

They waited for the hammer to drop, and when it did the blow was hard to handle. Elrond's age seemed to show more than ever in that moment, and he looked vaguely emotional. "I am afraid your time at Rivendell has come to an end," he announced gravely. "The ring must be moved from this place, as the power of the elves declines," he said with regret. "Frodo has declared his readiness to go and you will leave with him on the morrow."

Gwen exhaled strongly, nearly dropping her sword as her fingers numbed. Elrond looked grimly at each of them.

 _They were leaving._

* * *

The news seemed truly shocking to her and the hobbits, but obviously there wasn't time for questions or outbursts. Gimli and Legolas left almost immediately to explain the news to their respective delegations, and Aragorn – eyes heavy with emotion Gwen didn't understand – was gone before she had time to speak a word to him. Even the hobbits sprang into action shortly after Elrond's announcement, going with Gandalf to make preparations for themselves. Gwen was left alone with Boromir.

Nerves settled in her stomach, making her tense and all too aware of the hours she had spent getting beaten up. She ached everywhere. _Speaking of..._

Gwen glared at the Gondorian, who seemed unwilling to leave the training grounds just yet, was methodically cleaning his blade and checking the sharpness with keen eyes – ignoring her. Temper rose further in her at his blatant dismissal of her – she had, after all, just spent the better part of the day with him. Now, it seemed, he didn't notice her at all. Nonetheless, she felt it was high time she gave the arrogant bastard a piece of her mind. _Because I am sure as hell not putting up with his arrogant hoity-toity ways the entire trip._

"Boromir!" He didn't bother to glance up at her, or to acknowledge she had spoken at all. Emotions frothed and bubbled inside her, and despite the weariness of her body and the bruises on her pride, she refused to be ignored. _That's it! If he wants to do it like this, we'll do it like this._ Gwen limped over to him, grabbing the blade in his hands. She risked major cuts to herself, but it definitely got his attention with the reckless action. "What do you want, girl?" He snarled, feeling scared that the sword would cut her. It annoyed him that she was so foolhardy and reckless and easy to ignite. Such a person would only bring unneeded risk to the Fellowship, he was certain.

"Come back for more already?" Still, he couldn't resist taunting her. He derived a kind of pleasure from watching the emotions play across her easily readable face. Such a pretty face. Truthfully, he couldn't bear the idea of a woman being hurt in such a fruitless endeavor. And that is what this "Fellowship," such as it was, indeed would become, for all their trials and efforts. The Ring would never make it into Mordor, he was certain, and they would all lose their lives in the process.

But he was committed to just such a thing. He feared for the little woman, despite her belief otherwise.

Gwen, unaware of Boromir's thoughts, saw red at what she believed was another example of his cavalier snobbery – and knew he would smear the ground with her if she said yes. And she was just too tired for all that. As quickly as her anger had ignited, it fled, leaving her immensely weary, and to her horror, fighting tears. Determined not to show this man anymore weakness, she swallowed the lump in her throat and met his probing gaze fiercely.

Risking herself further, she pulled at the blade in their hands, making his eyes widen. "This attitude of yours? I've had enough of it." His eyes trailed down her arms to her hands where they held his sword between them dangerously and back up with a growing sneer, replying, "Your behavior right now proves exactly what I've been saying all along – you will hinder us with your foolish emotions – your weakness. No amount of training or practice will change that. Women are not made for this kind of thing." Gwen could see he meant every word.

She scoffed. "I get it – you don't want me going with the Fellowship, and you think my efforts in this ring," she waved an arm around the training circle, "are useless – to myself, to you, and to Frodo," she spat angrily. "Your feelings have been duly noted. You've made your point – very well. I imagine my backside will be blue for weeks." Disgusted by him, she flung the blade – and his grip on it – away from her. He had the grace to look somewhat, vaguely shamed, but the expression disappeared quickly. "I have worked for _weeks_ to be better suited for this quest – to serve a useful purpose for all of you. What exactly have you done?" She growled further, fully hitting her angry stride. "Bitched and complained about a _woman_ and done your best to undermine my efforts. That stunt you pulled just now? You _think_ you've proven your superiority and my weakness by kicking my ass, but you haven't. You've made a mockery of your vow to Frodo."

Righteous rage made her tremble, but she spun away, back straight and proud as she limped from the training grounds. Boromir, she had decided, was simply not a man worth her regard, and resolved not to think of him further.

Back in her room, she sat on the feather mattress, heart heavy. Despite her resolve, fear and so many doubts lingered in her mind, brought to the forefront by Boromir's unceasing claim of her unworthiness and the impending departure from safety she would be facing soon. Gwen had not forgotten what the wilds of Middle Earth had offered to her before. _Am I making the right choice, going out into this wild, crazy, medieval world?_ She knew she would never be a true fighter like Aragorn or Legolas – or Boromir, no matter how much she practiced. She _had_ learned some useful things, like tending wounds and recognizing herbs, and she could make a mean biscuit, but what _really_ could she offer the company?

Still, Gwen decided, she had made Frodo a promise and she would keep it, as hard as it was to face now. This was, after all, the only world she had left to her for the foreseeable future, and as dangerously different as it could be from Earth, Gwen knew it would be much worse if Sauron obtained the ring. She couldn't sit by and wait for that to happen. And really, who would keep an eye out for the hobbits?

Dothiel swept into the room, disturbing her melancholy thoughts – all briskness and too-cheery smiles. Clearly she had not heard the news. _I'm going to miss her._ The elleth had been a support to her throughout her stay in Rivendell, and Gwen felt truly close to the female. They were friends, even. The woman halted the moment she saw Gwen. "What is the matter?" The elleth seemed to expect the worst, judging by her change in demeanor.

Gwen twisted her hands together and smiled weakly at her. "Lord Elrond has announced I'll be leaving tomorrow – ah, that the Fellowship will be leaving tomorrow, rather," she corrected. Dothiel was stunned at the news, and she leaned against the door in dismay. "So soon?" she murmured sadly. "I thought you would not leave for months yet." She crossed to the bed and sat, studying the little human in front of her. "Do you feel ready to go?" Gwen laughed derisively at the question, knowing without a doubt she would _never_ be ready for such a quest.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready enough, Dothiel," she replied with a laugh.

Reading her anxiety, the elder female pulled Gwen into comforting arms. "These days are not for the meek, that is certain. You are a brave girl, Gwendolyn Carrick," she praised. The elleth pulled away from their shared embrace with a small sniff, and said to herself, "No tears right now." Briskly, she began to circle the room, as if gathering her thoughts. "Tonight will be a feasting night, then," she decided. Glancing at Gwen with gleaming eyes, she said, "We must get you ready!"

That afternoon that followed was a chaotic whirlwind of activity.

A new rucksack had been sewn for her from sturdy, supple leather, and together she and Dothiel rushed around trying to fill it with all the things that would be needed for the journey. It was roomy enough to hold not only a change of clothes and womanly necessities, but many luxury items she had requested: a sleeping roll and small feather pillow, a toothbrush, spices for cooking, many rolls of clean linen bandages, a large tin of a healing ointment Lord Elrond had shown her how to apply to cuts and burns to speed healing, and a very large portion of venison jerky Aragorn had shown her how to make some ways back.

Gwen felt everything she packed was a necessity on such a journey as she was about to take.

Dothiel turned her nose up delicately at the preserved meat as she packed it into the satchel, and though she said nothing to Gwen, she knew the elleth disapproved of eating animals. Dothiel was a staunch vegan, and was certainly much happier when the cook's assistant arrived with two large, wrapped packs of hardtack bread and dried fruit. "This is your portion of food rations to carry, Lady Gwendolyn," the assistant relayed expressionlessly. "Per Lord Elrond's instruction." The assistant bowed to both her and Dothiel before backing out of the chamber.

Combined together with the rest of the items, Gwen's bag was filled to near heaping. Luckily it wasn't too heavy for her to carry. Dothiel was across the room, rummaging through the trunk of clothing that Arwen Undómiel had so graciously provided for Gwen to use while in Rivendell.

She was clearly trying to find something fitting for Gwen to wear at the feast tonight; gowns came and went with ferocious speed. At last, Dothiel glanced up at Gwen mournfully. "It is a shame that all these gowns will go unused in your absence," Dothiel said. Gwen wouldn't be carrying them with her out of Rivendell, even though she wanted to. The elleth finally pulled out a deep purple gown with yellow accents, and Gwen was instantly sad she would never gotten to wear the beautiful creation.

Dothiel's laugh tinkled like bells. "Don't look so sad, little one," she said, rising from her place on the floor. "You'll wear this to the feast tonight!" Gwen was delighted to hear that, overjoyed with the choice. The tall elf held the gown up to her shoulders with that same tinkling laugh. "You shall be resplendent, and all the males will want to dance with you – and some of the females, too!" Her eyebrows wiggled jokingly, and they laughed together at the thought.

Gwen fingered the soft material, laugh receding into thoughtfulness. Would anyone want to dance with her? Aragorn had no interest in her, and Boromir hated her. Legolas maybe? Gwen thought about Glorfindel, but immediately dismissed the idea. As much as she felt _something_ unusual when he was around, his behavior had all but shattered her comfort whenever she was around him. He was already mysterious and powerful to her, but the abrupt one-eighty in his behavior after the council toward her was confusing and hurtful.

Dothiel came close, and lifted her chin so that Gwen's eyes would meet hers. She knew what Gwen was thinking. "Put your best foot forward, yes?" Her eyes were warm and motherly, and the emotion was soon followed by tears. Gwen nodded. _I never in my life thought I would end up friends with an elf._ There was a gentle acceptance in Dothiel that Gwen would miss dearly. She nodded again after a moment, and Dothiel hurried her out of her clothing and into a silky bathrobe.

"This afternoon shall be a day of pampering for you, and it's no less than you deserve. No more training," she held up a smooth white hand when Gwen would have protested. "There will be much time on the road for that. Do this for me. It would please me. How about a nice, relaxing bath?"

She saw the sadness in her friend's eyes, and knew Dothiel was not saying all that she could about her feelings. Gwen's heart softened curiously, and she acquiesced to the elleth's wishes. _One afternoon off after two months of training won't kill me – and God knows I need a break._ _Gwen rolled her shoulders and nodded._

Together they walked arm in arm to the steam bath, a luxury Gwen had only had once before, but not in this particular room. It was much larger than the one she had used before. Dothiel led her inside before turning and gesturing toward her. "Disrobe, and let me tend to you this last time, my friend." She turned to give the human her privacy and to gather the oils and scents she wished to use. Dothiel had always found it amusing and rather endearing that Gwen was so sensitive toward covering and uncovering her body with others watching. Elves, like she had explained to the young human, had few qualms about nakedness in the presence of others. Lovers, friends, and even whole families had been known to bath together in the baths within Rivendell. It was both wasteful and selfish to bath alone in these rooms, but Gwen had little knowledge of such things. She certainly couldn't be blamed for her beliefs, as her world was so different from Middle Earth.

Just this once, Dothiel would abuse the use of the public bath for Gwen's sake.

The room's air was heady and warm from the water's heat, and Gwen quickly removed her robe and entered the pool, moaning in pure pleasure when the heat melted into her sore muscles. The smooth, boldly-colored tile was cool beneath her feet, and she was astonished to see a beautiful mosaic of a harbor undulating beneath the gently lapping water. _Amazing._

Gwen dipped her hair to wet it before laying back against the granite side with a sigh. The heat quickly flushed her pale skin, but it relaxed her muscles like nothing else could. She could sense Dothiel at the water's edge, and when she knelt down beside her. The fragrant smell of honeysuckle filled the steamed air as Dothiel poured oil into her palms and rubbed them together before smoothing them through Gwen's ropy wet hair.

She gently worked the oil deep into Gwen's scalp, feeling how thick and healthy it had become. "Your hair has gotten so long, Gwen!" she exclaimed as she worked. "I can scarcely believe it has only been a matter of months since I first saw it." Her fingers gently worked through the sweat-caked, matted parts. Gwen could feel the tingle on her scalp, and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.

 _Bottled shampoo has nothing on this stuff._

"It must be midway down your back by now!" Dothiel marveled. Gwen nodded, too engrossed in sensation to speak at the moment.

"You have magic hands, Dothiel. Truly," she murmured, grateful to be pampered like she was. The elleth snorted ungraciously and pushed Gwen's head gently with a pleased sound. "Oh go on with you!" she cried, joking. "Rinse." Gwen dunked her head as Dothiel ordered, feeling through the long, newly clean tresses. Her hair felt thicker and stronger after two months of the elvish oil treatment. Rising from the water, Gwen lathered a large square of cloth filled with fragrant, minty body scrub and spread the suds across her naked form, no longer self-conscious around the elf woman who had been her maid servant all this time.

The tingle of the soap on her skin was heavenly, and the cool contrast to the heated water it created was another balm for her sore muscles. Rinsing the cloth when she finished, Gwen scrubbed her face clean. Once her body was free of soap, she lay against the stone side, completely relaxed. The heat lulled her into a sweet sleep.

"I'll return shortly. Just relax," Dothiel whispered into her ear. Gwen hummed out a reply, and was lost to sleep moments after her friend slipped away.

She jerked awake a short time later, her senses coming alive slowly; Gwen felt as if her consciousness was struggling through thick mud. Water lapped at her limbs gently, and Gwen grimaced when she felt the pruning of her fingertips. Confusion came and went. _How long was I asleep?_ She rose to leave the bath as the bath door opened, startling her, and someone entered the room.

Gasping, Gwen instinctively covered her breasts, praying whoever was there wouldn't see her below the waterline. "Who's there?" she called out, praying that whomever it was would just leave. "This bath is occupied." Gwen felt a little ashamed, remembering what Dothiel had told her about the public baths. She was being rude. A heartbeat's silence followed by a dark chuckle answered her and Glorfindel's handsome face appeared in the swirling mists. Shock and embarrassment colored Gwen's skin almost instantly.

She could see almost immediately that _this_ Glorfindel was not a happy one. His eyes were brooding and swirling with emotion, and to see it so clearly made her gape. Gone was the cold, detached elf she had come to expect from him. Those eyes of his almost burned her with the intensity of his emotions.

"This bath is public," he stated after a moment, clearly unconcerned with her nakedness swaying in the water. "Surely Dothiel informed you of this?" Without warning, Glorfindel began to strip off his muddy clothing. With a jolt, Gwen realized he must have been riding, and hard. His clothing was stuck to his skin with caked sweat and dirt. His hair was wind swept and dulled with grime. Even still, his body as it was revealed to her was perfection.

Throat dry, Gwen reddened and quickly glanced away, staring determinedly at the mosaic in the water. Where was Dothiel? Stuck by the shock and rising heat of this encounter, Gwen couldn't move even when he did. Water splashed deliberately as Glorfindel entered the pool to his ankles. Gwen's eyes flitted up briefly to see his eyes boring flinty holes in her skull. "We elves are hardly conscious of nakedness, not as humans can be." The humor in his voice made her blush further.

 _Oh my God this can't be happening!_

Mist obscured most of his body, but it was obvious by the bare, broad chest she glimpsed that he had intended to to bathe. "Elves are not so prudish that we cannot bathe in the company of others," The subtle jab at her gave her a glimpse of the remote Glorfindel she knew he could be as well, but she dismissed his comment, knowing Dothiel felt much the same. "I will not bother you," he promised, voice smooth and deep enough to melt her. The steam parted to give her a glimpse of him in all his glory before it disappeared beneath the heady waters of the bath. Gwen 's mouth went as dry as her throat.

 _Was she really naked in a bath with an elf?_

Marble-smooth skin covered hard muscle pleasingly, and just looking at him made her ache curiously in new places. _I've got to get out of here now, before I do something I regret – like try to touch._ He was perfection personified. She only had one problem. The only way out of the pool was past him – and she was sure he would see _her_ completely.

Her only defense was defensiveness, though, and she cloaked it around her like armor as she moved sluggishly through the water. "Well, I guess I'm a prude, then, because I am not comfortable being naked around others," she said firmly. He was silent as she exited the bathing pool, but she felt his eyes on her like a brand.

As quickly as she could, she covered herself with her robe and fled, leaving the elf alone in the water.

* * *

The encounter in the bath was quickly swept away in the preparations for the feast.

Gwen sat patiently while she waited for Dothiel to finish her hair. _This woman could take years doing it._ _The elleth_ certainly seemed to enjoy the luxury of styling Gwen's hair for her, but she was growing impatient. _And hungry._ As she watched in the mirror, the beautiful up-do hadn't seemed all that complicated to pull off, but Dothiel had insisted on every curl being perfect. Gwen's stomach growled just as Dothiel patted one last curl into place.

"There! All done," she exclaimed. Gwen breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful to be able to move again. "Thank you, Dothiel." The elf maiden hummed a response, happy with her efforts. Gwen had to admit, she did amazing work. "I feel like royalty," she murmured, admiring the complicated ringlets and swept up parts "It's beautiful." She examined her appearance in the mirror. Even the dainty slippers on Gwen's feet were luxurious – perfect for dancing.

Dothiel beamed, pleased with her praise, only to grow alarmed when she caught a glimpse of the sun in the sky. "Oh, but you're late!" she cried. "Lord Elrond will be wondering where you are, so we'd better get you to the hall."

Dothiel all but pushed her from the room in her haste to see Gwen off. "We are late?" Gwen certainly hoped not. Red colored Dothiel's cheeks faintly. "Only by a moment or two," she admitted. They rushed through the halls, but luckily the great hall where the feast was being held wasn't far at all. Dothiel all but pushed her to the door.

Suddenly nervous, Gwen looked back at her friend. "Aren't you coming?"

The elleth looked exasperated, as she might with a sibling who has bothered her all day. "Of course. But I can't very well go in this, though, can I?" She waved a hand down her perfect dress. Gwen shrugged, seeing nothing wrong with her friend's attire. Dothiel forced back a smile and motioned for her to open the closed doors and enter the feasting area before turning and rushing back down the hall to ready herself.

Swallowing a sudden irrational ball of nerves, Gwen opened the double doors and entered the hall.

* * *

 _Please review._


	15. A Goodbye Kiss

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fourteen: A Goodbye Kiss**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _A good-bye is never painful unless you're never going to say hello again. ~Anonymous_

* * *

The gentle, melodic music stopped playing at her entrance, which made Gwen wince. It was just a coincidence, as the first few strands of a new song began a few heartbeats later. But, the entire hall grew silent at the sight of her standing there, whether from the sound of the doors opening, or at her appearance, Gwen wasn't sure.

Across the room on a raised dais sat Lord Elrond, together with his handsome twin sons Elrohir and Elladan, and his daughter Arwen. It was remarkable, really, how remote and unemotional the elven people seemed, just by looking at them. Gwen knew otherwise, of course, from her dealings with Glorfindel and Legolas in the last months. Still, she found it quite interesting how polar opposite the elves seemed to be in comparison with hobbits, and even humans.

Their solemn eyes were on her even from across the room, Gwen noted with a blush. _Shiiiiiiiit, it just figures something like this would happen to me!_ _Remembering how Dothiel had forced her inside caused humor to rise over her mortification._

 _I've made my grand entrance for the night._

Clearly, this feast was to be the most grand she had seen yet. The gathering space was shimmery with low, shadow-casting candles strewn across the room within tall candelabras, and bowls of flowers and garland were placed here and there. The center of the room was cleared of tables, and the quartet of musicians had been placed to the right of the royal table. The first course of the meal was just being served, and Gwen's stomach rumbled hungrily.

Ripples of low conversation reached her as she stood there, taking it all in, but none were loud enough to be heard clearly. She could see the Fellowship towards the far end of the room, looking at her from their seats. Gwen blushed again and began to make her way toward them, where she knew her seat would be found. She tried to ignore the way many of the guests seemed to follow her with their eyes. The dwarven delegation murmured discreetly behind their beards, but Gwen still noticed their glances.

As she passed him from his end of the table, Gandalf sent her a reassuring, gentle smile. The elder man even winked! She tried to smile as she took in the room with her eyes, to lessen the tension she felt inside. The guests really were all staring at her. _Do I have something in my teeth?_ A fair bit of anxiety fissioned through her.

Elrond rose from his seat loudly as she passed, which she thought was rather deliberate on his part, knowing just how gracefully he could move.

"Lady Gwendolyn." Oddly, his elven mask of cold authority looked less in place than it always had, and his voice carried a note of emotion she couldn't place. He, at least, did not seem inclined to stare at her, and instead chose to walk between the tables towards her. He came to a halt in front of her with a bow. Gwen tried her best curtsy, which was wobbly and rather incomplete. "I am glad you could make it, my dear." His voice was nearly a whisper, but Gwen knew all the elves in the room could hear him.

Despite what her sense of sight told her, Gwen always felt a sense of warmth from the lord of Rivendell, at least after he had begun to trust her. She smiled tentatively at him, nodding. Before she could speak, Lord Elrond surprised her by dipping his head close to her and saying, "You look lovely."

Unused to being so gussied up, and being complimented for it as a result, Gwen colored slightly.

The elven lord didn't seem to notice as he extended his arm to her, which she took after only a moment's hesitation. He escorted her to an empty seat beside those of the Fellowship, and with another gallant bow, left her to retake his own on the dais. In doing so, the strange tension that had arisen at her arrival was dispelled, and the guests in the room began to eat with gusto.

The hobbits greeted her enthusiastically, consuming a mountain of food between them as they did so.

"Might as well eat up while we can, yeah?," Sam said between bites. "Never know what it'll be like beyond here..." He sounded faintly sad, and a little scared. Gwen remembered how he had spoken about being outside of the Shire, and surmised that such a journey as theirs would be especially difficult for someone like him as a result. She understood intimately how hard it was to be so far from home.

Pippin nodded enthusiastically at his words, his mouth full of roast chicken. She laughed at the picture he presented with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel hoarding nuts, but was faintly disturbed by his eating habits. Of all the hobbits, Pippin seemed to relish eating the most, and didn't notice at times how he looked doing it.

Merry noticed his cousin's indelicate eating and elbowed him with a scowl, looking greatly offended. "Jeez, Pip, show some table manners, why don'tcha?" he scolded. "You _do_ represent the house of the Thain of the Shire, after all!" Looking shamefaced at his cousin's words, Pippin swallowed hard, returning his face to normal proportions.

"Sorry," he murmured, eyes downcast. Despite herself, Gwen's heart went out to the little hobbit. It hurt to see that raw enthusiasm and zest cowed. Resisting the urge to comfort the young hobbit, Gwen instead gave her attention to her own plate.

The meal _was_ delicious. Roast chicken (Gwen noted how the elven plates instead contained fish), thick whipped potatoes, carrots and peas, and a delectable array of treacle tarts, pies, and cakes lined the table, and Gwen ate them all with as much gusto as the hobbits, only slower and with more regard for manners.

Boromir, who sat at her elbow, went out of his way to speak with her that evening. He told her of his city, Minas Tirith, and of his little brother Faramir. Once she let go of her anger at the arrogant man, she found him to be a wonderful storyteller, and more than once he had her roaring with laughter over some event of his childhood. The warrior seemed to actually _enjoy_ her presence, at least, and Gwen acknowledged these moments as a start. _It's nice to know there is some humanity in him after all._

 _The meal was removed after a while, and soon the room's occupants had begun to gather together, and some even had begun to dance in the middle of the room. Gwen was enchanted by the sight of the graceful elves pairing off and gliding serenely across the floor._

Her enjoyment was only dampened by Gimli and Legolas, who were already scowling at one another, seemingly unable to stand each others' presence at the table. Gwen didn't understand the animosity between them, and it couldn't have been a mistake to place them side-by-side at this table. _Those two are more alike than they know._ She smiled ruefully at the pair of them. "Already arguing?" She questioned across the table, gently. "Can we not be civil, tonight, of all nights?"

Gimli looked affronted at the very idea. He alternated between growling and muttering under his breath before he replied, "Why should I, lady? He's a no-good sniveling elf, if you ask me," he snarled, meanly, "And his father's a coward. I bet he'll be the same, once we leave this poncy elven place." Gwen had heard the other dwarves talk similarly about Rivendell and of the character of the elves, but she had no idea who Legolas' father was. Something had occurred between their parents, and the children had not been able to give up the gauntlet. _The past is never really the past for them, is it?_

It made her sad for them.

"My father is not what you say!" Legolas spat back, his voice softer and more dangerous than Gwen had ever heard from him. "You gold-hoarding, prejudiced -" Gwen held up a small hand to halt any further words, and was almost surprised that Legolas' mouth clamped shut in response. _They can't go the whole trip like this._ _It would end up tearing the Fellowship apart before they even got halfway to Mordor._

Better to talk some sense into them now, she supposed. "Enough, both of you!" She said. "I understand that dwarves and elves have grudges against one another from the past, but this... this," Gwen struggled to find the right word for what they were doing. " _Needling_ of one another is ridiculous!"

The entire Fellowship seemed to swing 'round their heads as she spoke, looking at her in apparent surprise at her outspoken words. Gwen ignored their looks and plowed ahead, heedless of who was listening, seeing only Frodo's face, weary and strained and _half dead_ , in her mind's eye. _This Fellowship existed for Frodo, damn it._ She stared at each of them seriously, willing them to take note of her words.

The two males looked vaguely chastened, but also appalled that a girl such as Gwen was scolding them. "I get it," she sighed. "You have good reasons to hate one another, and far be it for _me_ to come between that. But I believe you should be ashamed of yourselves by acting this way tonight of all nights, our last night of true safety."

She rose, wanting to get away from the bickering between them. It was upsetting. "Our quest hasn't even begun yet and you two are fighting like the worst of enemies," she continued, looking down at them where they sat. Her voice gentled further as her point was made. "We need trust in each other, if we hope to come away from God-forsaken Mordor _alive_ , we all need to know that you guys can put this petty shit behind you and do what needs to be done. For Frodo," she breathed. For a moment, she was silent, just looking at the pair of them, contemplating how insurmountable the entire quest seemed. Ten folks would couldn't seem to get along against hordes of evil shit out there? Gwen shook her head. _"Jesus_ _H._ _Christ."_

She strode away, irrationally frustrated and worried, past the dancing pairs of elves and out onto the balcony. She needed air.

Gwen gripped the railing of the balcony as if she would fall if she didn't. She wanted to run a hand through her hair, but Dothiel's work would be ruined, and she couldn't do that. "Gwen, are you well?"

Aragorn's smooth voice came from behind her, and with a quick breath, she turned to face him, nodding. Aragorn was resplendent in his best finery – as handsome as the king he would be one day. She turned back to the outside, watching the flickering lights of the lamps scattered throughout the enclosed valley, winking magically here and there and illuminating the beauty of the land even at this late hour. For long moments she didn't speak.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said at last. He joined her at the rail, looking at her without judgment, only concern. Knowing he wanted more of an answer than that, she continued, "I've already had to deal with Boromir today, and...they just made me so...irrationally angry," she explained. Aragorn listened, silently. "Here we are, about to leave the only safe haven we might have in all of Middle Earth, to get a tiny ring to a mountain of lava thousands of miles away. Not to mention," she continued ruefully, "All the evil things we might encounter along the way. We could _die._ _"_ _Gwen nearly choked on the word, and broke off as her thoughts overwhelmed her speech._

 _Finally, she sighed, looking back out at the darkened valley. "_ And they are fighting about the past, like it's so important compared to that." Gwen darted a glance at the human man, gauging his reaction.

Aragorn looked understanding. She watched the thoughts play over his features until he spoke, softly and lowly, automatically seeking to soothe her. "The past _is_ important to them, for good or ill," he explained gently. "It affects who they are today. And I think you have forgotten that Legolas and Gimli have many more years in age than you." Gwen gave him an annoyed look, even as she understood what he was saying. He laughed softly. "All I mean is that they carry many years worth of bad blood between them. I did not say you were wrong to chastise them; the quest is _more_ important than the past."

Gwen still felt she was right in this case, and turned to lean against the railing as she crossed her arms. "The past affects everyone of us, Aragorn," she said, thinking of her own near past. "We wouldn't be here were it not for the path that led us to this place. All of us." Gwen motioned between them. She was not consciously aware that sadness had crept into her gaze.

"I know how that feels too, you know." She elaborated, restlessly turning and leaning down, using the rail to support her weight. "My past isn't any prettier than theirs, for all my _few years_ , as you say," she cut into her own thought with a touch of humor, "God knows there are people I would want to fight with and harm as a result of things that have happened to me," Gwen murmured as she thought of her attacker _._ "But not at the expense of a friend, or for that matter," she laughed derisively, "of the world. They've got to understand this quest isn't about them. Isn't about us."

She looked him straight in the eyes, deadly serious. "It's about destroying that ring. And we can't do that with stupid in-fighting over things we can't change." Aragorn nodded, his handsome face smooth except for the growth of beard on his chin and cheeks. "You're right, and very wise, for one so young, little _elen_."

Gwen's mouth thinned into a smile ever so slightly. "I prefer to think of it as practical," Gwen laughed. She paused, enjoying the cool of the night on her skin even as she began to grow chilled. Curious, she changed topics. "What does _elen_ mean, Aragorn?"

This was an old, often asked question, one she knew he would not answer unless she had distracted him well enough.

The Ranger laughed, knowing she had been trying to catch him off guard, and the sound was deep and clear. The resonate sound warmed her and made her smile. He met her laughing gaze as he took her hand and pulled her from the rail. "I tell you what, Gwen," he bargained. "Once we destroy the ring, and we _will_ destroy it," he added confidently, " _If_ you still must know, then I will tell you. You would not understand why we call you such a thing if I told you now." Gwen scowled at him, only half serious.

"You know I could just ask any old elf and get the answer?" He looked down at her from his greater height, smiling. "Of course you _could,_ " he teased, "but you won't." He pulled her into the room, where by now most of the feast's guests had finished eating and had forgone the tables for dancing. "After all, where is the fun in that?"

Aragorn stopped mid stride, and Gwen nearly slammed into his back. He turned, a question in his eyes. "I am curious, though. Who is this God you speak so often of, Gwen?" Not expecting such a question, she was startled for a moment, before laughing. "Um, think of him as your Valar I guess," she replied, thinking of the many beings that had first created the elves and all the living creatures in Middle Earth. "Only...one guy, not as many."

Aragorn looked surprised at her answer. "One Valar? That is interesting," he said. "And this is of your world," he stated, and he looked to her to be trying to assimilate the knowledge. She laughed, nodding. Together they walked back to the table, but at the last moment Aragorn stopped her again with a single touch.

"Dance with me, _elen,_ " he ordered. Before she could protest, Gwen was swept into a lively reel by the Ranger.

"Aragooorn!" She cried out as twirled. "I _can't_ dance!"

Their shared laughter filled the room.

* * *

She'd danced so much she felt her legs might fall off. Her hair was a mess, falling away from it's elaborate pinning, and her dress was drooping slightly in places. Gwen swept the sweaty tendrils away from her forehead impatiently, really _really_ wanting a drink.

Though the hobbits had long since retired to sleep, which she surmised was a product of the amount of food they had consumed, but the elves and men who lined the room were still going hard – celebrating the Fellowship with one hand, and mourning their leaving on the other. It was a queer mix of joy and sadness.

Legolas tried to sweep her into another fast dance after she had shared a slow waltz with Gimli, but she begged off, needing a moment's rest at least. _Dancing with Gimli was hi-fucking-larious. Who knew the dwarf had it in him?_ He certainly could move, for all his great mass. Giggling and still slightly tipsy from the wine she'd consumed over the last hours, Gwen sat on a random chair to rest while she watched Aragorn sweep his lady-love, Arwen, across the floor.

Gwen understsood now a little better why Aragorn was so sad to leave Rivendell. He hadn't wanted to leave her. Not aware that she did so, Gwen sighed in envy. _They are such a beautiful couple. It's so sad that Aragorn will have to leave her for so long._ They turned around the dance floor magically, completely lost in one another. Gwen fingered her not-so-crisp dress as she watched more than a bit longingly.

 _I want that. That right there._

Lately Gwen had been more and more aware of the relationships she had lost in coming to Middle Earth, and while she had not been romantic with anyone before, she knew it was something she wanted eventually. How that could ever happen here, she didn't know.

Gwen sighed wistfully again as she reached blindly for a glass of wine on the nearest table, uncaring that she didn't know to whom it belonged. She sipped the sweet drink absently. A tall elf came up next to her, the low lighting casting a shadow from his tall body a moment before he sat beside her without a word. She didn't look at him, so enthralled as she was at Aragorn and Arwen spinning beautifully around and around.

 _You can practically touch the waves of love they give off. I feel it as if it was my own emotion._

"Why do you sigh so sadly?" Even in her pleasant wine-induced buzz, Gwen jumped at Glorfindel's voice next to her. Memories of his naked form bubbled up, and she blushed helplessly. She gazed at him as if she had never seen him, _really_ _seen him,_ before now, and his familiar hardened countenance softened at the innocent, angry look she gave him."I'm not talking to you. You have been very mean to me, and I was enjoying my night." The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and Gwen was surprised by her own forthright words. She missed the soft, sad smile that flickered across his features.

"Yes, I know," he murmured, reaching out to touch her hair delicately. Gwen tried not to lean into his hand, and he eventually lowered it away from her. "You have every right to be, and I am sorry," he sighed. Gwen easily picked up on his own sadness, and she wondered what might be the cause. Her righteous anger bled away, forgotten in her sleepy drunken state, and she waved a hand out at the dance floor.

"They are so beautiful together," she replied, completely changing the topic. "I mean look at them." She winced inwardly at how drunk she sounded. _Jeez, Gwen._

Glorfindel studied the dance floor, silent and brooding. "I want that, you know." She hadn't meant to let that part slip, but it came out barely a whisper and she covered her mouth in exaggerated horror. Glorfindel studied the couple with his fathomless eyes a moment longer before standing and grasping her hand in his large, warm palm.

"Then you shall have it, lady," he said decisively. "Let us dance." He had misunderstood her, but Gwen allowed him to sweep her into the slow, intimate song that began a moment later. "I didn't mean it like that," she murmured into his shoulder, amazed at how good his embrace felt. _Something_ about being near him made her chest ache, and being this close was achingly electric. Had she looked at him in that moment, Gwen would have seen the sadness creep into his eyes. "I know you did not, little _elen_. Still, I wanted to dance with you."

Gwen gasped in drunken shock, tried to pull away but found she couldn't go but so far in his strong embrace. She tapped his shoulder in what was supposed to be a firm hit, but in her tipsiness was only a swat that didn't hurt him in the slightest. "You know that nickname too?" Gwen was aghast at the idea. She laid her head back on his chest again, murmuring, "I don't know why everyone calls me that." He was so warm, and she couldn't help but to snuggle into him in the cooling night.

"No, I do not expect that you would." Glofindel's voice made his chest rumble beneath her cheek, and a warmth suffused her skin. He kept her close, which she loved. She was lulled into a light sleep by their gentle swaying and close, warm embrace. She inhaled his woodsy scent, content. "This is nice, Glorfindel." Her voice was a sleepy, innocent murmur. He was certain she didn't know she had said it, nor that she'd said it in such a manner. She was entirely without guile, and she made him ache. And he knew he would never have her.

It was a nearly unbearable thought.

With an low cry, he pulled away from her, leaving her in a confused, suddenly cold mass of tipsiness.

"I am sorry, _elen._ I must go." He easily escaped her embrace and started to exit the hall, to salvage what was left of his fracturing composure. "Glorfindel?" She called his name softly, sounding a little lost and a lot confused. His chest throbbed, and it took every ounce of strength he had to keep walking. She completely missed the upset that dominated his features. He forced himself to ignore her call.

He got to the hallway, his composure all but shattered by his rising sadness. It hurt his lonely heart to look at her, even for another second. Deep inside, something in him called to her, and he knew she could not answer, not now.

"Glorfindel, wait just a damn minute!" She didn't sound so drunk now, he noticed, but angry. Quick, muffled steps followed his silent ones, and she caught up with him. A tiny human hand curved around his bicep, and turned him. He wanted to keep going, but the hurt in her eyes brought him up short.

"Why do you keep doing that to me?" She cried, nearly wailing the words. He was silent, unable to answer her around the pressure massing in his throat. The cold had settled into the valley that night, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground in the courtyard beyond. Glorfindel called upon all his control not to look at her.

"You keep acting all nice and friendly and then slapping me away when we get comfortable," she said, growing angry. Had he not been so saddened, Glorfindel may have laughed. The small human woman was everything he was not – fiery, emotional, and wild. "What the hell is wrong with you, Glorfindel? I thought we were going to be friends!" The words were childish, but they rang true. His desire to have a last moment with her had morphed into something else, something nameless and impossible to conceive. Helplessness rushed into him for the first time since his youth, and in his defense, he grew angry. But Gwen didn't notice. "You blow hot, then cold, and I'm sick of it!"

An animal sound left his throat, bringing Gwen's eyes to his face. He grabbed her arm in an unyielding grip, leading her into a secluded courtyard where they could be guaranteed privacy. By the Valar, he wanted to kiss her! To hold her to him and move inside her. He wanted it all – and he couldn't have it. He released her, trying desperately to retain his distance, but she faced him down like a great dragon breathing fire. "Well?" She sounded defiant, completely absorbed in herself in that moment. "Don't you have _anything_ to say?"

His anger rose higher at the injustice of it all – her presence in Rivendell, her effect on his _fe_ ä, her leaving to follow a doomed quest. It rushed over him like a tidal wave, at her – no, at himself.

"We could have been friends, Gwendolyn!" He cried out, his hands clasping over her arms. "More than friends! Your joining with the Fellowship made that impossible – all of it!" He wanted to rage at the stars at the injustice of it. Gwen looked stunned, as if she had never fully considered the possibilities his words suggested. His chest throbbed and his eyes glowed with pain. She brought a dainty hand up to her throat protectively.

"I..wha?" She was confused. "What do you mean, Glorfindel?" _She was leaving him_.

And he had never had a chance. How could he make her understand how that made him feel? He sucked in a breath of frigid air, growling. "I have waited thousands of years for you, _elen._ I prayed to the Valar for you – that they would send me anyone who could light the spark of emotion within me." He placed a hand against his chest solemnly, and her face was filling with dawning understanding, and a reflection of his pain.

Gwen could feel it as if it was her own. The weight of it made her want to sink to the ground. She didn't speak, wanting to let him continue his confessions. _I never even considered he had these feelings for me._ Part of her was joyful at his words. The other was very sad.

She was so caught up in her alcohol-hazed thoughts, Gwen didn't notice him move immediately.

He came closer to her, cupped her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he breathed as he pulled her close to him. "Since the moment I saw you," he began, "I have longed to know you." His dark, endless eyes consumed her as they looked at one another. "The Valar brought you here – I believe their will was done in your coming. You, my gift from another realm." He stroked her cheekbone reverently, his palm gentle, hot and strong against her face. "And you came – and lit the spark of my desire, that has long lain dormant within me. It has been the worst pain, wanting you and knowing it is not my fate that I should have you." He released her then, as if his sadness was too much for him to bear, and glided away from her.

"I have known this to be true since my lord's council," he intoned, struggling to keep his emotions from consuming her, and him. "It made me furious." Gwen's heart was close to bursting with unknown, new, painful emotion. From him. For her. It swirled around her and caught them both up in its wave, sobered her quickly with its effects.

His shoulders sagged, for the first time burdened with too heavy a weight to carry. "You will leave, tomorrow, and I shall never see you again." He pierced her with his gaze, voice and eyes so very sad. "The Valar willed you away from me." His fist clenched, and he whirled away from her gracefully. Not for the first time, Gwen admired his warrior's lithe, graceful form. "Before I ever had a chance," he growled. "They took you from me. It hurts me as nothing in my long life has ever had the power to do."

Gwen went to him then, crossing the short distance between them and fell into his willing arms, her tipsiness all but gone. "It is not forever, Glorfindel," she urged. "We.." she breathed, "We could try, after the quest..like Arwen and Aragorn." Her mind's eye conjured up their image, so in love, twirling around the dance floor.

Glorfindel's eyes warmed a moment at her words, and she knew in that moment that she could love him deeply, if they were given the chance to know one another. He passed a hand over her face, moving the stray tendrils of hair behind her curved human ear.

"Your words please my heart greatly, little human." He held her tenderly, as if they had many moments to come just like this one. But deep inside, they both knew they did not. "The Valar does not will it, as much as I may wish it to be so." He caressed her cheek again, tenderly. Like a man in love.

Gwen's head was spinning. _This is so much to take in._ "You know of Aman – the Undying Lands?" Glorfindel's arms tightened around her, and she looked into his eyes, shaking her head. "It is the land of the Valar, and of my kin." Gwen had a question in her eyes. "It calls to us..." he broke away, his eyes taking on a glazed, far-away look. "To me, _elen._ In time, a short time from now, the elves will depart these lands for those of the eldar. I will be among them." His face was pained, his strong features weary with it. "Long has it called to me," he said lowly.

Snow dusted their clothing as it began to fall lightly around them, and Gwen could feel the opportunity she had only just been made aware of slip away. _He won't be here when the quest is done. That is why he was so upset...so cold to me for so long._ "Oh Glorfindel..." There was a wealth of emotion in her words. She understood now, and hurt for him, for her, and for their future, forever lost to them. The possibility was closed to them now – she had chosen the road months ago.

 _But I didn't know!_ And maybe it had been God's will, Gwen didn't know. She wondered if it was possible to believe in such things after everything she had seen. "I didn't know," she implored, hoping he'd understand her.

He nodded. "I know you didn't, and you made a true, unburdened choice, Gwendolyn." His voice held sadness, but gone was the coldness he had shown previously towards her, instead she could feel only the heat of his gaze on her, and the warmth in his voice.

"It was the will of the Valar that you go with Frodo and the others," he said tenderly, hand lingering on her cheek. "I was angry, before, at you and myself for waiting to tell you my feelings. I treated you badly because I had damned myself. I-" She stopped his words with a finger to his lips, and he grasped her cold hand in his own, warming it with his light touch.

"You don't need to apologize to me." She pulled away from his lips, but he kept her hand ensnared with one of his own against his chest. "I wish I had known how you felt," Gwen replied mournfully. "Things might have been different."

Glorfindel looked infinitely weary and sad. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But I have been given this night, watching you glow with laughter with them, and to see you as I am right now. It will have to be enough. I will treasure it for the rest of my days." He pulled her to him, and their embrace was achingly intimate.

"I am going to kiss you, little _elen,_ " he murmured lowly after a moment, his head already descending to hers. Her heart stuttered and increased in tempo, but she didn't pull away or protest. Gwen was curious about how he would taste. His lips captured hers in a heartrendingly tender, gentle kiss. His mouth moved feather-soft over hers, and conveyed every ounce of the emotion he was feeling.

She had never been treated like that in all her life. _With so much tenderness._

The moment was wholly beautiful; snow fell around them as they were swept up into each other for that single moment. Gwen made a sound in her throat, a needy, breathy noise. Her free hand tangled in his long, silky blond hair as he deepened their kiss, their tongues meeting at first tentatively, then with fiery passion. His hand released hers to cup her head, leaving her hand trapped between their bodies, pressed intimately against him. The kiss seemed to go on for ages, and neither seemed to want to end it.

Finally, Glorfindel lifted his face from hers and rested his forehead against her own. They were both breathless. _Holy pickles and cheese sauce. He_ made her utterly breathless. Who knew being kissed could be so intense?

"We must now say our goodbyes," he murmured at her ear.

Denial swept through her very soul at his words, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to forget the quest she had pledged her life to. Glorfindel saw this in her eyes as he pulled away from her, sadness pouring from his fathomless eyes. "You have given me a great gift this night, _elen_. A priceless, treasured gift," he murmured. His eyes were fathomless jewels as they stared into hers.

"I am... _awakened,_ " he breathed into her hair. "For that, I thank you deeply."

He kissed her forehead, a separate, aching goodbye on its own. Gwen could not speak around the great ball of sadness in her throat. Glorfindel caressed her cheek tenderly. "You know not how you shine, little _elen._ " He admired her a moment. "May you find great happiness on the path you travel, and may you always be safe."

It was an end before a beginning, and she grieved over the loss of a path not traveled. Glorfindel released her from his embrace, and she felt the cold instantly. He stepped away from her, his shoulders sagging once more and his eyes dark with his pain. He seemed somehow diminished, and yet so beautiful to her. " _Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au', Gwendolyn."_ His last words were not clear to her ears. Oddly, she felt the words inside her head, implanted there as memories were, and she couldn't understand them at all.

 _Elvish._

And then he was gone, and she was left standing alone with the snow falling around her.

* * *

 _Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au':_ My heart shall weep until it sees thee again.

* * *

 _Please review._


	16. Departure

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifteen: Departure**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Sleep came slowly to Gwen that night, left as she was with plaguing _what ifs_ and doubts. In her heart of hearts, she knew she was making the right decision – It would never be right to renege on her commitments, no matter how difficult they were to keep. All she had here was her word and her integrity and Gwen couldn't compromise that. It wasn't easy for her to let go of a potentially happy relationship for a journey filled with certain danger, but it had to be done. _You've made your choice, Gwen._

She had, but it wasn't easy to live with tonight.

When sleep descended at last, and Gwen awoke sooner than she would have liked, a new day dawned bright and early outside her window. Or, as she had been informed by a reserved, moody Dothiel, it was just crawling into the afternoon. The Fellowship would be departing, she had explained, just before dinner. Neither of them was happy about it. The normally cheerful elf was sullen and withdrawn. Gwen didn't take offense at her unusual behavior. Goodbyes always sucked, especially when you had come to care about a person as she had her elf friend. She knew Dothiel felt the same.

Gwen could sense the turmoil within the elleth, and understood when she seemed to take twice as long on mundane, ordinary tasks. "Here, let me comb your hair," the elf murmured, gently plucking the delicate marble hair comb from the other woman's hands. As she worked, Dothiel hummed a tune Gwen didn't recognize – an elvish melody. It was soothing, but faintly sad. Certainly fitting for their task today.

"Lord Elrond would like to see you today," Dothiel informed her after the tune had faded. Her voice was choked, and Gwen did her best to ignore it, knowing her elf friend would be embarrassed for a human to see her emotions. "As soon as you are able to meet him, I am told," she continued after clearing her throat, "Before you join the rest of the travelers in the courtyard proper."

Sitting as they were in front of a mirror, Dothiel's eyes finally met hers as she relayed the message, and Gwen was struck by how much sadness they projected. It was so rare to see clearly the deep emotions of the Elder Race of Middle Earth, and oftentimes Gwen had to remind herself they felt anything at all, as they were so stoic and unemotional. But Dothiel was clearly upset today.

Gwen nodded, swallowing her rising nerves away. The leather breeches and boots she wore suddenly seemed pinched and tight on her skin, and her shirt and warm fur-lined jerkin seemed ill-fitting.

 _It's just nerves. You're just nervous about leaving this safe haven._

It was true; she had no idea what lay beyond this valley. Middle Earth was vast, or so Merry's maps had told her, and she had never meant to be around long enough to see more of it. Yet here she was, about to set out on a journey she could very well never come back from. Gwen was coming to grips with her unexpected place in this world, but she could help but feel like the journey to Mordor was only a prelude to something bigger – another journey of sorts. What lay in store out there, in the wilds? A fission of emotion traveled the length of her spine.

It wasn't fear that kept her poised on the new path before her, but rather an understanding that once she set foot on the road, her life would be changed, _again_ , forever. Gwen shuddered at the thought. Change was inevitable, that was certain; however, she abhorred the swiftness and finality of it. It was, she admitted, one of her character flaws. She had always fought the ever constant nature of change in her life.

Mournfully, Gwen acknowledged that her ever-present deepest desire was to find herself home again, whole, and the same person she had been before. With no concept of combat, nor of age-old ways of living. But that path was closed to her, for now.

Dothiel squeezed her arms in comfort, sensing the upsurge in tension and emotion in her friend and drawing her from her melancholy thoughts. "All will be well, my friend," she soothed. "The nerves will only make leaving worse. Seek calm," she advised, rubbing circles on Gwen's back soothingly.

"Calm," she crooned. Gwen pushed aside her heavy thoughts resolutely, knowing there was little choice now for her, but the ball of sticky anxiety within her remained. Carefully, Dothiel braided Gwen's hair tightly in little strands, so that they framed her face. Then, she tied the braids back together, so that her hair would not obscure her vision if they met trouble.

Gwen didn't miss the slight shake to her friend's hands and inhaled deeply before releasing it through her nose. _No more nerves._

"You will find it difficult to braid your hair alone," Dothiel explained, "Because it is so long and thick and wild." The elleth laughed. "Legolas will know how to do it as I have done here," she touched the smaller braids at Gwen's temples that led into the long, thick one down her back gently, "and here. He will certainly be willing to help you." Gwen had discovered that all elves enjoyed having their hair touched by their friends and family, and indeed, it was a treat to be shared. An intimacy.

She wondered whether Legolas would be comfortable enough with that.

Gwen nodded and stood from the bench, at once aware of her short stature next to the tall, willowy elleth. "Thank you, my friend," she murmured, resisting the urge to hug the elf woman. For a moment they stood, not awkwardly, but silently, together, listening to the peace of the afternoon day and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Gwen crossed to the open balcony. Snow had fallen during the night, and past the balcony, she could see the glimmering of white blanketing the entire valley. It reminded her that she was cold, and she shivered. "I will miss this place," she whispered, almost to herself. It was remarkable, really, that she had come to enjoy Rivendell as she had. Everything had a stillness, a calm, that could not be found in human dwellings. That measure of peace to be found here, she would miss.

Dothiel joined her at her side, and studied the landscape. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes, and she hastily beat them back, knowing the goodbye that lingered between them would be hard enough as it was. Dothiel distracted herself quickly, saying, "Your clothing fits you so well, Gwen, – and my goodness you are so tiny." The human girl was indeed. Though she had never had a true plumpness to her form, Gwen's flesh had endured the tests and trials of training these past months, and was now sleek and thin.

Dothiel worried that her tiny, fragile human friend would be crushed in the quest to Mordor. It was a fear she had never expressed to her, and nor would she. Still, it made facing her departure that much harder. Neither of them wanted to touch the giant pink elephant in the room. Neither wanted to say goodbye. The elven woman sighed, finally facing the inevitable.

"You will come back, after you speak with Lord Elrond?" she questioned after a long moment. Her voice was not as confident and bright as before, and her eyes held a nervousness that touched Gwen's heart. Tears rose in both pairs of eyes – in that moment Dothiel's maternal concern reminded her very much of her own mother, who was lost to her.

Gwen nodded. "Of course."

Dothiel smiled, but it was forced and fleeting. "Good! That is good..." She looked relieved. A moment later she seemed to break through her melancholy and ushered Gwen to the door. "Well, I'm sure he is waiting. Go. I will be here when you return for your things." Catching sight of the thickly woven, mossy-green cloak across the bed, Dothiel picked it up. "Don't forget your cloak, Gwen." Her voice wobbled, and Gwen marveled at her maintenance of composure. "It is cold outside."

Gwen nodded, took the cloak from her, and walked hastily from the room. Her chest was heavy with emotion, and she couldn't muster the energy to walk briskly through the cold. _Goodbyes suck._ _A bitter, chilling wind whipped through the inner courtyard, foretelling of a nasty winter. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, pleased when it warmed her exponentially._ _Thank God for elven made clothing!_ _She didn't want to think about what such a cold would feel like traveling in so exposed a manner across hill and mountain, even with the cloak to warm her._

 _Gwen hurried._

Lord Elrond was waiting in the same room they had met in that day many months ago. She remembered the devastation of that day, and the dull ache of pain in her chest throbbed a reminder. It had been the worst day of her life, but to her surprise, she realized, that the world she once knew so well and longed for so deeply was less _real_ to her than it had been, as if the passing months were washing it away like chalk on a sidewalk in the rain.

Gwen stared at the carved, oak door, shocked to discover she was forgetting things about Earth. She wanted to rage and cry at the fading of her memories, but what could do about it now? Logically, it was her brain's way of moving on. But it seemed hardly fair to replace one life for another. _Like momma used to say...what you love lives in your heart forever._ She would not forget _that_ , at least.

Her mother had originally been talking about a dead cat that Gwen had loved as a child, but that hardly mattered now. The sentiment was the same, and it certainly applied. This world would have to be enough for her, for now.

With a tentative knock, she was admitted into Elrond's study, and was surprised to find it empty of anyone except for the elven lord. So this was to be a private meeting. _Interesting._ His eyes brightened when he saw her enter. He graced her with a smile that split his somber face with a ray of happiness, though she detected more than a trace of sadness within his aged features. The circlet of silver always present on his head gleamed dully in the golden firelight.

He offered her a drink from the crystal decanter on his desk, and she took it gratefully, eager for the warming liquid on her throat. His ancient eyes settled on her, warming her more than brandy. The smell of books and parchment in the air was strong, and strangely comforting to her. She had spent many months in this room, studying the papers and reading the books, desperate for more information about this new world of hers. Elrond, for his part, had indulged her in this need, and had always provided new material and answered all her questions.

Yet, Gwen was aware that he had always maintained a distance between them, observing and judging her. She wondered what, now, he desired from her; she wouldn't speculate, as her nerves were already growing. For long, silent moments the elven lord merely looked at her. There was very little about humans he respected anymore – but this girl had shown great courage and resilience in her time in Rivendell.

And he didn't think he would ever forget how her pain radiated outward so strongly that first day he had met her. Her emotion that day had made a mockery of his own faded grief for his wife, long dead but still cherished. Concerned and mistrustful, he had chosen to watch her from afar – seeing her grow and change even in the months he had known of her. It was at Glorfindel's behest that he had opened his library, and offered his knowledge as a healer to her.

It had not been something he looked forward to, at first. But, over time, his view of her had changed. For all her youth and inexperience, er soul was aged well beyond her living years, and its light was bright and warm. He could see plainly the goodness within her, and it endeared her to him that she sought to hide it from no one, from the lowliest creature to the most highly regarded in elvendom.

Aragorn's pet name for her truly fit, though at one time he might have begrudged her it. _Elen_. As she sipped the glass of brandy he had given her, Elrond pondered the nature of the soul, the _fe_ ä. Glorfindel was an ancient being, not easily swayed by the beauty of the fairer sex. Yet, within months of knowing this slip of a human woman-child, he had found himself beset by emotion and feeling. It was perhaps less surprising when one considered the nature of elves. The twining of souls could occur quickly, and, much like the evils of Morgoth and Suaron alike, a soul-touch left an indelible mark.

The little human had no idea the impression she had made within the warrior.

"You are ready to depart?" He asked quietly, banishing his deep thoughts away for the moment. Gwen, by this point used to the silence, jumped a bit at the question. Hastily she set down her glass and met Lord Elrond's gaze. His eyes were kind and warm, but hawk-sharp, and she knew he could read her face clearly. Unsure of how to answer, she finally settled with the truth.

"As much as I can be, I think," she admitted quietly, a small smile flittering across her features. "It has been hard to even think of saying goodbye." Lord Elrond stern visage did not give away an inkling of his thoughts, but he nodded and turned away from her briefly to pick up a longish package from his desk.

"I do not want to keep you long," he explained, "As I know you have much to do. I was bidden to give you this, as a parting gift, from Lord Glorfindel." He watched her closely as she took the carefully packaged item from him gently, measuring its weight and size with curious, shocked eyes. The happy wonderment in her face made him struggle to suppress a smile.

 _A gift..from Glorfindel._

Truthfully, nothing could have shocked her more. Instead of opening it immediately, she sat in one plush chair and held it reverently. _Why didn't he give this to me himself?_ But she already knew the answer to that, and Elrond could see her emotions pass clearly over her delicately built features. Looking up at the elven lord, she murmured sadly, "Glorfindel has left, hasn't he?"

Lord Elrond moved, gliding soundlessly across the polished floor to sit beside her, and she looked at him with tortured eyes. He could do nothing but tell her the truth. "He has gone from this haven, yes, _elen_." His eyes were unreadable, but Gwen thought they might be compassionate, as if he understood what this news meant to her. Sadness didn't build within her as she expected, but instead a warmth stole into her. A happiness. _Glorfindel left me a gift._

Like everyone, she loved the occasional gift. She glanced down at the muted brown paper in her hands.

 _What could it be?_

Gwen carefully untied the bindings of the parcel, not wanting to tear it in any way. She had always been like this as a child, insisting on carefully unwrapping all her Christmas gifts to save the paper. A bolt of awareness had her gasping, and she exclaimed, "It is Christmas Day!" Elrond didn't know of Christmas, so she hastily explained, "It is a holiday from my world. Everyone gives gifts to one another to celebrate it." How coincidental.

It _was_ rather ironic that she would receive a gift on that day. Lord Elrond watched her, rather amused at her careful unwrapping. The trappings opened and parted to reveal a finely-wrought elvish blade encased in a tooled red leather scabbard. She looked at Lord Elrond questioningly, shocked at what she was seeing.

 _This is... amazing._ _A wealth of emotion was flying through her, and she could barely organize her thoughts._

"He had it made for you, for the journey," the elf lord explained. "It is an elvish long-knife." Lord Elrond bent and the waist and took it from her hands, unsheathing the blade to show her the craftsmanship. Gwen could plainly see its deadly, curved edge. It looked strangely feminine. The hilt was made of silver and a red wood, both materials swirling and coming together beautifully in a vine pattern dotted with silver stars.

The blade was engraved with a flowing script surrounded also by vine and star detailing. She couldn't read the words, and looked to Elrond to explain. "It is inscribed with Tengwar runes," he said. "It says 'My name is Burningstar. All darkness flees from my light.' He sheathed the blade and returned it to her. For a moment he studied her, and Gwen grew red under his scrutiny. "I think Glorfindel hoped it would protect you on this journey, Gwendolyn."

Overwhelmed with the gift, Gwen handled the blade reverently, and she stood to strap it on. When she placed it around her shoulder, however, the stoic elven lord cracked a smile, his first yet today. "That is not how you carry that particular blade, _elen,"_ _he explained._ "Like this." He arranged the belted halter around her neck and across her shoulders. It slid the scabbard across her back at an angle, the sturdy thong settling between her breasts naturally and comfortably. Once it was tightened securely, the weapon would remain just so on her body.

Elrond nodded approvingly at the picture she presented, thusly armed, and he turned away again with a small smile.

"While I am afraid my own cannot compare to Lord Glorfindel's," he said with a touch of humor, "I too, have a gift for you." He bent to retrieve a messily-wrapped package from the corner of one long bookshelf. Gwen could have sworn that she saw a flush grace the elven lord's cheeks as he said, "I'm afraid I cannot wrap a gift nearly as well as our esteemed lord, it seems. Alas." Gwen laughed, taking the parcel just as reverently as she had Glorfindel's.

 _Two gifts in one day! From elven lords to boot. Wow._

She opened his gift to find a simple, beautifully carved short bow and a small quiver of arrows, perfectly fletched and balanced. Both were tooled with the vine and star detailing, just like her blade.

She gaped at Elrond, in shock. Never had she expected this. _Never._

"Lord Elrond...I don't know how to thank you for this gift. I have been practicing, but," She fingered the soft detailing on the quiver as if it were precious metal. "I am nowhere near good enough a warrior to carry any of these weapons." _Especially not this knife!_ The weight of it, though slight, was unfamiliar to her.

Lord Elrond smiled, aware of her discomfort. "With these, you can practice and become better." He took her hand in his own, his eyes boring into hers seriously. "Let us hope you never have cause to use them on another person, little _elen._ " Though he feared she would sooner than she thought.

She nodded, and he helped her strap the quiver to her back alongside the blade. The bow she would carry in her hands. Lord Elrond stepped back to admire the picture she made in her attire. "You look as if you are ready to do battle!" he exclaimed.

"I feel a bit like Legolas, actually," Gwen laughed. She palmed the bow and blushed when Lord Elrond laughed again, the throaty sound foreign coming from the elven lord.

"You have been a joy to all who have met you, Gwendolyn." His compliment made her blush.

He looked out the window then, noting the lateness of the hour, and sighed. "You should get back to Dothiel, Gwendolyn. She will be wanting to say goodbye to you privately, and it is nearly time for you to go."

She nodded and turned to leave the study. "Oh, and Gwen?" Elrond called her back, and she turned as he spoke. He looked solemnly into her young face once more. "Do not be afraid of what is ahead, little one. You do not know what lies upon the road." Eyes wide at his prediction, she nodded, too shocked to speak, and turned and took a step and stopped again. _How had he known my thoughts?_

She turned back, remembering something. "Lord Elrond?" He looked up at her from his desk inquiringly. "Thank you for everything." His eyes warmed at her thanks, and he nodded. She walked into the chilly corridor, back towards her quarters.

* * *

Gwen arrived at her room to find Dothiel laying in a weeping heap on her bed. Gwen rushed to her friend, afraid she had hurt herself somehow. "Dothiel! What is the matter? Are you hurt?" The elleth couldn't speak, her sobs were so harsh. She rubbed her tear-streaked face and wrung her hands in distress.

"No, Gwen...I'm not hurt. I'm just, -" she couldn't get the words out before another sob overtook her voice, and Gwen waited patiently for her to explain. Finally, she calmed enough to tell her clearly.

"Oh Gwen, I am so afraid for you. That you'll _die_!" The words ended on a near wail, and Gwen could do little more than comfort her friend. _Oh Dothiel._ Her heart clenched at the elleth's words.

She gulped in air, clutching at Gwen's clothing desperately. "You cannot conceive of the evil Sauron is capable of, nor the vastness of his armies," she gasped. "My father – he fought them before, in the last war. _..oh,_ but I'm afraid for you," Dothiel sobbed, her voice choked and harsh. Gwen rubbed her back in smooth circles until her crying became hiccups. Finally, she spoke softly, trying to find a way to sooth her friend's fears when her own were much the same.

"Dothiel, I understand your fears," she murmured gently. "I am so scared to die, too. But..this is something that I have to do – I pledged myself." She was resolved, now. "And you must remember I am meant to die one day," she said. Dothiel's face twisted as if she were going to cry again, and Gwen didn't want that at all.

"Now, wait. Listen to me, my friend," she requested. "As a human, death for me is as assured as the sun's rising every day. It is not something I can avoid forever. You know this." She held her friend close, soothing her as best she could. "It is something I have to remember every day – that my next breath could be my last."

Gwen smiled at the immortal elf, knowing she had never had those same thoughts. "Do not worry for me, Dothiel; I will not be alone against the evil that's out there. It will be fine." The elleth cried softly for a few minutes more before she sat up, then stood, wiping her eyes resolutely.

Gwen stood as well, and one glance outside told her that it was time to say goodbye for good. _Crap._ Dothiel knew it too. She turned away from Gwen and said, "I have a gift for you."

 _Another?_ Gwen smiled. "It really is Christmas!" Dothiel glanced back at her, puzzled by her exclamation. Gwen explained, "Christmas is a holiday celebrated in my world. We give and receive gifts on that day – well, today. I've gotten two other gifts already." She motioned to her back, where Dothiel saw the weapons she'd been given.

"Oh! I see! Those are fine gifts. From Lord Elrond, yes?" Gwen nodded, not really wanting to mention Glorfindel. Dothiel walked to her before placing a set of combs in her hands. They were wood with a delicate silver inlay, and by Gwen's estimation, beautiful.

She looked up at Dothiel, a smile splitting her face. "These are beautiful, Dothiel; thank you!" The elf flushed with pleasure at her friend's delight. "They were mine as a girl," she explained. "You'll need them to keep your hair straight and untangled while on the road. Which you will do, yes?" She looked at Gwen sternly, and Gwen nodded with a giggle.

Gwen's smile slipped away as Dothiel grew silent, content just looking at her. They both knew the time for goodbyes was at hand. Without speaking, Gwen hugged her friend fiercely. No words were needed. After a moment, Dothiel's arms curled around her back as well, and they stood like that for long moments. Gwen released her, and placed the combs she had been given gently in the top of her bag. Sighing, she hoisted the full rucksack onto her shoulders, where it settled quite comfortably over her weapons.

Gwen gave thanks for elvish craftsmanship once more, marveling at the way everything fit together. Bow in hand, she turned towards the door.

Ready to leave.

She glanced back at where Dothiel stood silently, looking in that moment like a fragile, wilted flower. She was obviously trying not to cry, and Gwen smiled one last time at her friend before she turned and exited the room, leaving no time for further words. It was always so hard to say those few syllables. Once in the outside corridor, Gwen broke into a run, wanting to get away from these always painful goodbyes as quickly as possible.

Before she got out of earshot, she heard Dothiel cry out, "Gwen, be careful!"

Tears blurred her eyes as she made for the courtyard proper, nearly toppling into one or two servants in her haste. The chilly air cut through her to the bone, and for a moment she was utterly miserable – already cold and so very sad to be going away. But brought the folds of her fur-lined cloak around her for warmth, and immediately felt better.

When she reached the steps at the top of the courtyard, Gwen slowed to a walk.

 _I never imagined leaving this place would be so hard._ But it truly was. There was safety here. And so much warmth. Gwen could see many elves had gathered to see the Fellowship off. Her companions stood, nine strong, together with Sam's laden pony, Bill by the easterly gate. All around, nature lay dormant under the winter snow. Pippin caught sight of her on the elevated stone, and he raised a hand in welcome, clearly delighted to see her. _Did he think I wouldn't come?_

As she made her way down the stone steps, she saw that Lord Elrond stood by Gandalf's side, with his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and his daughter Arwen. The tall, willowy elf maiden was clutching Aragorn in a tearful embrace, and Gwen averted her gaze out of respect. _Some things are private._

When she reached her companions, they greeted her solemnly, each looking a bit anxious and uncomfortable. Together they admired her new weapons. Legolas inspected her bow carefully, his careful, even features softening as he tested the weapon.

"This is a good bow, Gwen." He pulled back the string effortlessly. "It will give you many years of service, I am sure." He smiled at her, and handed the bow back. Aragorn joined them then, silently taking her pack from her shoulders to be added to Bill's beastly burden.

She unsheathed Burningstar at Merry's request, and soon it was being passed around and inspected. It came to Aragorn last. He and Legolas shared a knowing look as they looked over the inscription and detailing, keenly aware of something she was not.

"So that is what he was up to all this time," Aragorn murmured softly, and Gwen immediately wanted to know what he was talking about. "What who was up to?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow as he inspected the blade carefully again.

"This blade was made by Glorfindel, Gwen," he explained solemnly. "It bears his mark."

He showed her a tiny, intricate knot at the base of the pommel. Gwen was shocked at the information, and Aragorn smiled gently, returning the blade to her. "You must have been very dear to him, for rarely does he make such an item. The last he created was finished well before I was born." She blushed, amazed that the handsome elf had made such an item – for her! She sheathed the blade carefully, avoiding Aragorn's knowing eyes. It was a precious thing before, she knew, but now it was priceless.

 _He made this. He made this for me._

She would cherish it forever.

Lord Elrond called to them, garnering the attention of every elf and creature in the courtyard. Aragorn moved out of her line of sight so that she could see him clearly. "It is time." The regal elf raised his arms to include them all, and the others watched them solemnly. Tension and fear seemed to be alive between his words, but fiercely Gwen tamped her own emotions away.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom and to you who will travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will," the elf lord intoned. He met each companion's gaze, and he lingered on Aragorn and Frodo. "Farewell." He looked at her, then Boromir, then Aragorn again.

"Hold to your purpose and may the blessings of elves and men and all free folk go with you."

Gwen shivered through an icy wind as it blasted over them like an omen, and her stomach clenched with anxiety, suddenly feeling every ounce of the great weight that had been placed upon their collective shoulders. Gandalf looked to Frodo, who looked so scared she wanted to hold him close.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," the wizard declared solidly. Gwen was surprised when Frodo hesitated only a moment before moving forward, very tentatively, with Gandalf following him directly. Gwen looked back Lord Elrond one last time before Aragorn's big body filled her vision, and she turned to follow Gandalf and the others.

She heard Frodo ask the way to Mordor. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered to herself. Aragorn placed a hand on her shoulder, and she took the first step out onto the path out of Rivendell.

Her heart pounded and the sound of her blood rushing through her ears filled her.

 _Here we go, I guess._

The company turned left out of the gate, and before long left Rivendell in the distance.

 _Will I ever be back?_ She didn't know.

But it _was_ the start of a very long journey.

* * *

 _Please review._


	17. Eregion

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _This chapter has a rather detailed description (about two paragraphs long) of a dead animal being field dressed – if you can't stomach it, skip it._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixteen: Eregion**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _January 8th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

The road south out of Rivendell was not particularly difficult to traverse, at least not as difficult as Gwen had expected. The days had been cold but the weather had been clear, allowing for the sun to shower them in golden warmth, when it wasn't offset completely by the blisteringly cold air that swept in from the mountains or obscured completely by gray clouds.

Their pace had been fairly steady, and Merry had taken to showing her each day's progress on the map he carried. It was a habit she enjoyed, having always been the type that tended to be more productive when the end goal stayed at the forefront of her thoughts. The cold had a way of deadening even the most resilient of wills, she had discovered.

Gwen shook as an icy blast of air gusted around her, whipping her hair around for the millionth time, and she pulled her cloak closer around her neck. _I wish this thing had strings I could pull to make this hole smaller. Like with Kenny in South Park. He was on to something._ Ahead, Legolas was telling Boromir a bit of the history of the region – apparently the elves that had originally forged the Rings of Power had lived here.

Gwen found that interesting, when she wasn't focused on the cold. Even once the woodland elf pointed out great ruins of elven cities of old. It was rather sad that the inhabitants were all gone. Overall, the days of travel were not bad, if a bit dreary, by Gwen's reckoning.

 _Okay, who am I kidding – it's been miserable._

She walked with Legolas and Aragorn most of the time, simply because she was trying to learn Sindarin Elvish more fluently, and they spoke it the best. Her vocabulary was picking up slowly, and Gwen could hold a conversation fairly well now, if the person she spoke to enunciated clearly and spoke slowly.

They had roared with laughter, however, when she turned and asked Legolas if he knew how to suck on a fish. Clearly, she had gotten her words confused. She flushed scarlet, but accepted their good-natured ribbing as camaraderie. Learning was a fine distraction from walking, which itself was an excellent cold deterrent – at least until they stopped moving. Her legs ached each day by the time they made camp, the muscles bunching up painfully as she rested, but those aches had nothing on the deep pains the cold heaped upon her every day.

Even wrapped in her cloak and thick down-stuffed gloves, she froze anytime she stopped moving; that was her only real complaint. Gwen knew she would grow used to the pace Gandalf set and it was really only a matter of time before she was used to sleeping outdoors again. But the cold would always cripple her. It was the night, however, that she had learned to be most wary of.

The temperatures dropped – _drastically –_ to well below zero every night. Unlike Legolas, who was nearly impervious to the cold and only required a single blanket to keep warm while he rested, she and the hobbits were less hardy and more susceptible to freezing as they slept.

 _It's pretty well likely too, the way we're going._

The first night she shivered so much _underneath_ her bedroll that she had been unable to sleep until Aragorn had laid down beside her for warmth. He had only arched an eyebrow at her questioning gaze as he had gotten comfortable, snuggling his body close to hers. Gwen was not about to say no to his body heat. When Gimli suggested they continue to travel at night, Gwen had been supportive, but only so she could get some blood flowing in her numb extremities.

Gandalf protested against this idea heartily, even though Lord Elrond had suggested it himself before they left Rivendell, and his reasoning against the idea was sound by her reckoning: the forces of darkness moved at night – far better than the Fellowship could, at any rate. They stood a much slimmer chance of encountering the enemy at this point in the journey if they camped in one place at night.

After hearing this, Gwen resigned herself to curling up to one of the men for warmth at night, as uncomfortable as it was to be so intimate with them. Still, she acknowledged her gratitude and managed. They made camp every night as the sun departed from the sky, and every night she cursed her woman parts for forcing her nearly out of her clothing while she peed. _I'm surprised my ass doesn't have frostbite yet._

They had eaten well, at least.

Their hunting opportunities had been very good in the land south of Rivendell, though the farther from the road they traveled the less they were able to cook. Gwen practiced her archery skills by helping Aragorn hunt, and was beyond surprised when she downed a sizable doe on the first expedition she went on with the ranger. He met her look of surprise with one of his own, even as the poor doe scrambled around on the ground in pain, raising a heartrending racket.

"You _have_ been practicing," he marveled with a smile. It faded as they approached the poor creature. Gwen could hardly stand to look at it. "But, now let's see you clean it," Aragorn declared. With the ease of a man well-practiced in the art of killing beasts, he strode up to the doe, and killed her mercifully, thankfully ending the heart-wrenching racket she made. He removed the arrow in the doe's throat with a sickening squelch and sliced open her midsection from throat to haunches to dress it for cooking.

The bloody intestines and stomach felt out and onto the ground in a messy heap. Gwen's own insides rolled. _Oh Christ that's disgusting._

Gwen promptly turned and lost her cookies in the bushes. Aragorn waited patiently for her to finish before before enlisting her help skinning now messy carcass. Gone were the days that he would do it for her. To his credit, he didn't tease her about having a weak stomach, nor did he laugh at her green-tinged, twisted facial expression as she plunged a hand into the still-warm guts. Even more disturbing was the sense of relief she felt as her hands warmed at the touch. Still, the slick feeling of the insides made her ill.

"Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that's horrendous!" she gasped, and he did chuckle at that, earning a truly black look from her. "Stop laughing at me," she hissed. Her rebuke did no good, however; it seemed he had lost all control of himself as he laughed at her openly. Scowling, Gwen began to remove the victuals from the creature, trying her damnedest to pretend they were fake.

"Careful with those," he cautioned, trying valiantly to suppress his grin as she removed the upper intestine with a horrified expression. "If they burst, not only will you smell like an unclean stable for weeks, but you'll poison the meat." _Well shit. No pun intended._ _She immediately gentled her touch._

Gwen was beyond disgusted with the bloody job, and for someone who could barely stomach laying a knife into the beast, she felt she managed to hold her stomach well enough. At least she was able to _finish_ the filthy task. _But I never want to do it again._ She told Aragorn as much. He just laughed, and Gwen knew she would be doing it again soon.

The Fellowship ate well that night, and whatever was left over was salted to preserve it and used to make jerky. Gwen half-lay, half-sat near the crackling fire, feeling full and warm despite the frigid air. It was enough to lull her into a drowsy sleep.

"We are nearly to Hollin, Gandalf," Merry's softly spoken words called her away from her sleepy thoughts, and she saw he was showing Gandalf where they were on the map as the wizard puffed on his long pipe. The warmth of the fire made her more drowsy than she thought, and for the first time in days she wasn't cold. Smoky rings meandered through the air as the old wizard studied the torn parchment in the hobbit's hansd.

"Ah, yes, the lonely ruin of Eregion," he murmured absently. The wizard nodded down at the parchment. "It twas once a home to great elves – and dwarves," he said with a smile and a look at Gimli, who was dozing a short ways away. "Shall I tell you about them?" He had a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her, then at Sam, who were always interested in a good story.

Gwen perked up a little at his question; it was no secret she enjoyed hearing the histories of Middle Earth, but not for the reasons everyone thought. She didn't have a particularly keen interest in history – at least not of Earth. What interested her most about Middle Earth's history was that it was so different from her world's past. With a sleepy smile, she nodded, and the old maiar settled into his tale.

He looked at Sam, who waited eagerly at his side. "You remember the Ñoldor?" Sam nodded, and Gwen recalled the second clan of elves who, she had learned from Lord Elrond, were considered the greatest smiths and craftsmen among the elves. She wondered if Glorfindel was of this clan. Gandalf looked pleased that Sam remembered.

"Good, good...well, there once was a Ñoldorin prince named Celebrimbor, a descendant of Fëanor, who you'll recall created the Simarils and the great Seeing Stones, came to rule in these lands after the Lord Celeborn and his lady Galadriel departed for their Golden Wood in the Second Age," Gandalf lectured. "He called his realm _Eregion,_ and soon was dealing openly with the dwarves of the Misty Mountains."

He paused to puff on his pipe. Legolas came to sit beside Gwen, growing interested in Gandalf's story, even though she was sure he already knew it – after all, this was his peoples' history.

"In the year 1500 of the Second Age, a being _claiming_ to be an emissary of the Valar by the name of Annatar came to Eregion and began to teach Celebrimbor the art of ringmaking – and under his tutelage, the Ñoldorin created sixteen rings: 7 for the dwarves and 9 for men."

Gwen could see where this story was going. _He's talking about Sauron._

"In secret, Celebrimbor created the three great elvish rings of power: Vilya, Narya, and Ninya. Now it is not so much of a stretch to imagine that Celebrimbor suspected his supposed friend Annatar of ill will, because he forged these rings in secret. But alas, he himself was deceived by the being, for Annatar – or as he was truly known, Sauron – had created his own ring to enslave all the rest without Celebrimbor's knowledge."

It was silent in the camp for a moment, save for the crackling of the fire pit.

"Thus, the rings of power were created – and the One Ring, also," he said gravely. "But do not think badly of Celebrimbor – he valiantly defied the Dark Lord once he realized his error, sending the Elvish Rings away from this land, into the hands of his kin. In retaliation, Sauron sacked the realm of Eregion, laying it into the ruin you can see around you today."

"And what happened to Celebrimbor, Gandalf?" Sam asked quietly. The fire popped and hissed, and smoke from Gandalf's pipe lingered in the air. Gwen thought she saw a glimmer of sadness in Gandalf's unfathomable eyes, but it was gone before she blinked.

"Alas, Celebrimbor was captured in the sacking, tortured into revealing the locations of the lesser rings, and when he died from his wounds, Sauron strung him up, using his body as a banner on his fields of battle." Gwen gasped at the cruelty.

 _What a gruesome end._ Suddenly the old ruins Legolas had shown her didn't seem so awesome. Gandalf turned to Merry, who, like all the others, listened to his sad tale eagerly, while he sat inspecting his map.

"Look, you see?" the hobbit exclaimed, accidentally waking Gimli with his noise. "We've come over forty-five leagues from Rivendell as the crow flies." He glanced up at them, as if looking for some reaction, sounding positively proud of his calculations. The dwarf grumbled in ill humor before waking up a little more to listen. Merry raised his brows at Gwen with humor, who sat rubbing her sore feet, listening absently. Gandalf's wizened, serious face cracked slightly into a smile at some humorous thought he had as he looked at her.

"Though, it has been many more than that on foot," he said pointedly. Gwen smiled, though she was hardly in the mood for laughter, especially after his sad story. She wondered how Annatar – _Sauron_ – had been able to so easily deceive Celebrimbor. Weren't the elves the wisest people on Middle Earth?

Gandalf leaned over Merry to take in the map more fully.

"From here, we will make for the pass that leads over the Caradhras Mountains, I think." He indicated the place on the parchment. "The road will be more mild than in days past, I'm sure." He thumped the weathered scroll with a finger, presumably marking the spot he spoke of. "It will also be the least expected road to take."

Gimli, who by now was sitting up and warming his hands by the low, snapping fire, snorted in disbelief. "That's because it's asking for death to scale those peaks this time of year, Gandalf. We should go through the halls of my cousin Balin in Moria." Boromir snored softly a short ways away, deeply asleep. Gandalf's eyes sharpened at the dwarf's words, but he didn't speak his thoughts. Gwen got the impression he disagreed completely.

Gwen asked to see the map, and she studied the unfamiliar landforms of Middle Earth seriously for many moments. "Could we not take this passage here?" She asked, pointing to an area no more than four days away, and turned the map to show Gandalf, who grunted.

"The Gap of Rohan? We will not know if it will be open in even a day," he explained with a puff of his pipe. "It is a possible road, but the most unpredictable will be over the mountains, as I've said. There are many enemies that will be waiting for us – many spies who would seek to track us along that road." He puffed out two great clouds of smoke with a serious expression on his face.

Gwen could see Aragorn on guard a short ways away before turning her attention back to the wizard.

His mouth was thin, and is eyes faraway. _His thoughts must be heavy._

"We must be on our guard."

* * *

"How old are you, Gwen?" Legolas asked her in Sindarin. They – or rather she and the hobbits – were nearing the end of their daily stamina quota for the day. It was obvious she was flagging. Legolas and Aragorn had taken to distracting her in such moments with impromptu Sindarin lessons.

Legolas's question penetrated her tired brain, and Gwen shot him a playfully derisive look, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the steadily setting sun in the distance.

"Don't you know it's not proper to ask a lady her age?" She replied in the same tongue. Her ability to speak was growing better with every passing day, but she still had a very bad accent. Aragorn laughed as he walked just behind them, clearly keeping up with the conversation even as his restless gaze shifted constantly over the land.

"Legolas doesn't feel the passing of the years as we do, though he's quite the old one here, and no longer notices such trivialities as what is proper."

Legolas, all playfulness as well, ignored Aragorn and placed a hand on his heart and bowed slightly. "My apologies, lady, of course." His eyes glinted. "Your age?" Gwen laughed at his persistence.

"I'm seven - " she stopped walking, causing Aragorn to nearly plow into her from behind, his closeness knocking her off kilter. He steadied her. _I'm not seventeen anymore._ "No way," she whispered in Westron, more to herself than Legolas. The two males looked at her curiously even as she was pushed back into movement by the ranger.

Switching back to Sindarin, she explained, "It seems I have forgotten my birthday. I turned eighteen on December the 27th." Aragorn's eyes widened slightly, and Legolas sent her an understanding look.

"Ahhh." He made the sound low in his throat. "Still just a babe, then."

 _I can't believe I forgot my birthday. Though I suppose it was to be expected – new world, new friends, new happenings. A body just gets caught up._

"But you would be considered a woman in your world?" Aragorn asked this softly. Gwen nodded reflectively. She picked up her pace to follow Sam and Bill ahead of her, who were clipping along quickly. "I guess so. Both men and women come of age in my world at eighteen, though many adults still treat those of that age as children," she explained, breath puffing in white clouds in front of her face.

 _Being a woman sure doesn't feel much different, that's for sure._

Before they could continue their conversation, Gandalf called back to them, having decided to make camp for an early supper, and she immediately sent up a prayer of thanks. They all helped to unload what they would need from Bill, including cooking supplies and bedrolls.

Sam was determined to have potatoes and sausage for supper, so it seemed that was what they'd be eating. She seated herself comfortably on a cool, flat stone, wanting nothing more than a few hours rest. She rubbed her legs, trying to ease the throb from them. She unstrapped Burningstar with a groan of relief.

Throughout this leg of the journey, it dug painfully into her shoulder and stayed there, leaving a spot of dull pain in its place. She cradled it together with her bow and quiver in her lap, watching the changing hues of the afternoon sky. The sun would set before too long.

Aragorn approached her from behind with a nudge, saying, "Gwen, come practice your hand at the sword with Merry, will you?" She gave him a dismayed look.

 _I just want to rest._

He met her look with a stern stare of his own. "You have not practiced since we left Rivendell. Come." When she didn't move immediately, his eyes softened. "I know you are tired, little _elen_ , but this is a vital skill to have and you must not grow forgetful. Come now. Show us what that blade can do, girl."

He motioned to Burningstar. With a sigh, she rose, her calves protesting. _Even the hobbits will best me in this condition._ Gandalf, who was overseeing Sam and Frodo unpack the foodstuffs, turned and graced her with a compassionate, knowing smile.

He placed a hand on her shoulder as she passed, and Gwen was close enough to see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. He leaned down from his tall vantage point and whispered in her ear: "Take heart, young one. The first leg of our journey is at an end." He straightened and met her disbelieving eyes with humor.

 _Well, that's good at least. One down...how many to go, exactly?_

He patted her shoulder before releasing her. He was quickly distracted by Sam and Frodo, who were making a low fire for cooking. Gimli stood watching the eastern sky with an unreadable expression on his face, and Legolas was laughing at the picture Aragorn, Boromir, and Merry made together – the ranger was trying to show Merry how to swing his sword without dropping it, but the hobbit's grip was off, and more than once Boromir had to duck to avoid the blade. Merry, growing embarrassed, tried to give up, but Aragorn insisted he continue.

As she looked around at her companions, Gwen felt that ever elusive trickle of peace filter through her. Even being as sore and careworn as she was, she took in the moment with a huge smile on her face, happy to have come with her friends.

 _This trip hasn't been so bad after all._

Aragorn caught sight of her standing there and waved her over with a comically relieved look on his face. "You spar with Merry while I work with Pippin. Merry is-," he paused, searching for the right word. The hobbit in question listened keenly, and Aragorn looked down at the little man before meeting her eyes. "Ahem. Merry is getting better at defense, and you should practice your thrusts with him."

Boromir coughed, and to Gwen it sounded suspiciously like a cover up for a laugh.

Gwen nodded and smiled tentatively at Merry, her grip on Burningstar tighter than it should have been. The hilt was longer than she was used to, but it was a light blade to wield. Merry's blade was smaller, like a dagger, but wicked sharp, and he looked worried at the prospect of fighting with such deadly weapons.

She stepped down onto the smooth stones that would serve as their sparring circle, and dropped into the defensive stance she always favored. "You attack first, Lady Gwen." _Boromir wants to play sideline coach, huh?_ She shot the Gondorian a scowl, but he ignored it and simply waved her towards Merry. In the universal gesture of _get moving._

Sighing, she rolled on the balls of her feet, trying to settle her balance, twisting her shoulders to ease some of the tension rolling through her. Gwen centered her thoughts resolutely, trying to project calm and purpose. Burningstar was a natural weight in her palm – an exact fit, really – and it felt like an extension of her own arm. Merry waited in a weak defensive position – his sword arm raised to keep his weapon in front of his torso.

She waited for her opening to attack. When his eyes slip past her to Boromir, she shifted her weight forward as Aragorn taught her and leaped toward her opponent, jabbing her sword through an opening in Merry's defense.

Surprised, he barely parried her blow, stumbling backwards. The force it took to defend himself knocked him off kilter and Gwen gave him a second to right himself as she circled him. "Do not give your enemy a chance to recover, Lady Gwen. Attack!"

 _Merry's not my enemy, though._

She parried Merry's answering blow solidly, and drew her sword in an arc between them to dislodge his blade from hers. Burningstar sang out brilliantly as the blades slid against one another.

Minutes ticked by as they dueled, the sun descending lower and lower in the sky, and Merry surprisingly grew confident in his strikes, and Gwen found herself more and more aware of her shaking, aching muscles. Merry knocked her down with one blow, her legs simply giving out underneath her, and in desperation she scrambled up and away from him, bringing her blade up to parry a swift down-stroke.

Whirling in a half circle, she brought Burningstar up to swing it down upon the little hobbit, not noticing his focus shatter completely as he watched something past her head with awe.

He barely parried her fierce stroke, and with a wheezing breath she broke his defense altogether and knocked his sword from his grip. Panting with the force of her exertion, she didn't at first notice the silence of the camp. Realizing Boromir and Merry stared at her in shock, she looked around, confused.

"What is it?" Burningstar felt warm in her palm, and her shaking fingers closed ever-tighter around the hilt. Merry motioned to her. "Your sword. It's glowing."

Aghast, Gwen looked down at her weapon, and indeed the star and vine pattern shown brightly like lights on a Christmas tree. It was an unexpectedly beautiful display. "Wow." Beneath her eyes, the glow faded until the pattern was normal again. She sheathed her blade, trying to ignore the looks of awe the hobbits were giving it.

 _It's magic, not something I did._

Gandalf stopped her and held out his hands, asking to hold the scabbard a moment. She wordlessly passed it over to be inspected.

At last, he said, "Your sword likes the taste of battle, Gwen. It speaks words of joy at your victory." He returned the blade to her with a smile. "Elvish-made items always seem to carry a drop of the unknown – a spark of magic, if you will. You are truly blessed to possess such an item." He patted his own blade, and motioned to Frodo's blade.

"It is an honor indeed to do so," he continued. _Is nothing in this world normal, though?_ _Gwen_ sat in Boromir's place beside Aragorn to watch as the Gondorian instructed the hobbits on proper defense. She cradled her magical sword in her lap, her hands tracing the vine and star pattern tooled into the leather. _I guess this is just one more thing in my new normal world._ She shook her head to herself.

"You did very well in your offense, Gwen. An improvement." Aragorn murmured quietly to her, and said nothing of her blade, as if it was common for him to see such a phenomenon. Sighing softly, she nodded and looked out to the mountains, feeling grimy and disgusting.

"Legolas," she called. He was almost instantly at her side. She didn't bother to look at him, training her sight instead on the snow-capped mountains in the distance. The sun had just disappeared behind them, and she knew the cold would set in soon. "Is there a stream nearby?" She twisted to catch his answer. He nodded, pointing toward a copse of trees a short distance away.

"There is a stream that runs through those woods. Not far for even your weary body to go."

Nodding, she stood and placed her sword by her other belongings laying so neatly by the warm fire Sam had built. "I'm going to get clean." It was an announcement, not a request, and one that Gwen wasn't looking forward to. It would be insanely, bitterly cold. Gimli stood, his silhouette stout and round in the ever-darkening night. "I'll stand guard over you, Gwendolyn. You have my word I'll not sneak a peak."

She giggled when he waggled his eyebrows comically, knowing his honor would never allow him to do such a thing as look upon her naked. She collected her change of clothing, combs and washing items, ignoring the disapproving looks Aragorn and Boromir gave her.

"The night is dangerous, Gwen. You should stay here and wash instead of leaving camp," Boromir suggested. "Sam can boil some water for you." Her safety was paramount to them all. Gwen shook her head, needing to wash properly. Her hair, even braided, felt like a greasy fry pan of oil after so many days of not washing it.

"I haven't had a proper bath in nearly a week, and we all deserve one at least that often," Gwen declared. "A birdbath just won't cut it for me tonight. I'm smelly and nasty." She strode past the men with a smile. "Don't worry, I'll be back."

A short while later they sauntered back to camp, Gwen's loose hair a wet curtain of curls down her back that gleamed dully in the firelight. She smelled of honeysuckle and mint, and she looked as fresh as a spring rose in her cleanliness. She was the very picture of femininity. Unaware of the natural effect this had on the men, she laughed and told stories with the hobbits as Gandalf looked on with a mix of amusement and bemusement.

It seemed that they had all forgotten, if only for a few days, that Gwen was a woman with a woman's needs. She was an innocent reminder of softer things in their own lives, of more intimate things they all missed. They were only male – and alive – even if they all saw her as a sister and friend.

"She shouldn't be here," Boromir muttered under his breath, his cheeks pink. "Didn't I say that before? I know I said that." Gandalf caught his words like smoke on the wind, and he raised his eyebrows at the comment. Clearly her fragrant, blatantly female presence bothered him greatly.

When she asked Legolas to help braid her hair, even the controlled, serious elf hesitated. The look of discomfort on his face amused the wizard.

"You should let your hair dry first, _elen_. In the morning I will do this thing you ask." Gwen looked a little confused by his logic, but didn't argue. She bid them all good-night as she always did, and kissed the foreheads of the hobbits. They flushed, as was usual at this familiar, intimate treatment, and Gimli stuck out his cheek for his own, making Gwen giggle delightedly. She kissed his ruddy cheek with affection before settling in for the night.

By morning, any discomfort had been forgotten.

* * *

 _Please review! They fill my fancy :)_


	18. Caradhras

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Seventeen: Caradhras**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _January 11th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen never, ever wanted to see snow again.

The Fellowship had been trekking up the snow-capped slopes of the Caradhras Mountains for the past eight hours. The scenery included snow. And more snow. The occasional rock. _Oh and look at that! More snow._ As they climbed, the seemingly unending sky grew steadily more gray and ominous-looking, and with it Gandalf grew more pensive. Worry lined his already haggard-looking features, and that, in turn, worried her.

The blinding white snow was only growing heavier the farther they ascended up the slopes, and it would be impossible to stop in the pass, for they would surely face an icy death if they did so.

She knew Gandalf had hoped to make it through the pass over the mountains. He had assured her and the others it would be the safest route for the Fellowship to take, albeit the most uncomfortable for them all, but she really questioned the logic behind his beliefs at this point.

"Why are you so afraid of the other routes, Gandalf?" she asked, her voice not carrying far. The wind whistled shrilly for a moment before fading dully into a low moan. The gray-clad wizard huffed and puffed as he moved through increasingly thicker snow, his face red with exertion. He didn't reply immediately, and Gwen could see he struggled to take even a small breath. By this point he was using his staff to help move the white stuff out of his way.

It wasn't until he had regained his footing on the slopes that he turned and answered her. "Saruman will be watching us, Gwen," his eyes met hers pointedly, his bushy eyebrows pushed down together in a frown. "Very carefully."

"Who is Saruman?" Gwen asked, nearly tripping as she lost her footing yet again. She had heard his name spoken in low whispers, but had never figured out concretely why the Fellowship should have to worry about him. How much damage could one person do alone?

Gandalf told her gravely, "Saruman is a wizard of my order – its chief, in fact – or so he was. He broke away from those esteemed ranks to align himself with _Sauron_ ," he spat the word, clearly disgusted even thinking about it. Gandalf cupped his hands around his staff, watching the hobbits struggle to reach where they stood. "He is a formidable foe, and one we cannot afford to take _lightly_ ," he finished seriously before turning back to the pass to continue ahead.

Legolas showed her later where this evil wizard resided, in his tower of Orthanc, on Merry's map; Gwen was frightened to learn how close he was to them compared to Mordor.

 _I didn't grasp the distance before._

After that brief rest, Gwen caught up to Gandalf again. They talked together as the Fellowship journeyed up the pass of Caradhras, and the conversation helped Gwen forget somewhat about the biting cold and wet snow. Gandalf was a captivating storyteller, and never got impatient with her about her constant questions. His taller form and cloak helped shield her from the worst of the snowfall, which was certainly an added benefit to walking and talking beside him.

"He is our biggest threat right now, _elen_ ," Gandalf warned. "Not only is he closer to us in distance than Sauron, but he is breeding an army to find the ring and take it from us. You have been told of the orcs?" Gwen nodded, thinking of the grotesque, sadly broken creatures Boromir and Legolas had described while in Rivendell. The wizard spared her an approving glance before continuing his thought. "Saruman sought to exceed the potential of even the orcs as dark weapons. Through his foul crafts, Saruman has crossed orcs with goblins, and the resulting offspring are much larger than orcs and can travel at great distances." Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff, distaste plain on his features.

Gandalf's gaze pierced her with a single look. "They can move in the daylight as well." Gwen's eyes grew round at the thought; the implications of that single detail were terrible. Until now the fellowship had been safe traveling in the daylight, and Eregion had been relatively mild in terms of danger. Orcs could not stand the sunlight on their skin. They had encountered a pack of wolves that had come close a night or two, but they didn't attack as Aragorn thought they would.

Gwen was beginning to understand more clearly the forces that drove Gandalf's decision. "So...the Gap of Rohan would have brought us closer to these super-soldiers, and maybe into Saruman's hands altogether." Gandalf glanced down at her grimly, his eyes squinted against the sunlight reflected off the snow.

"Exactly."

 _So that's why he was so cautious after we had gotten close._ The company had encountered many groups of black crows that Saruman had sent over the mountains to spy on the gap; for Gwen, it was surreal to hid from such creatures, but magic, it seemed, permeated everything in this land. Not even crows were simply animals. They had been forced to hide for hours as they passed overhead like thick, black clouds.

Finally, disgusted with his failed attempts to pass through the Gap of Rohan unnoticed, Gandalf had made the executive decision at last to scale the Caradhras Mountains and hope they would be able to pass through them. While Gwen could fully understand the decision he made for all of them, she was utterly miserable in the wet and cold.

It snowed more and more the higher they climbed, the wet stuff clinging with cold fingers to every layer of clothing and melting into the cracks and creases of her clothing. Her feet were numb and tingling, and soon she could no longer keep up with the longer-limbed Gandalf. Eventually she stopped trying altogether, as it took a ridiculous amount of energy. They were climbing through at least two feet of lightly packed snowfall, and stepping through it was both difficult and slow-going for everyone but Legolas, who could walk over the top of it without sinking.

The hobbits in particular were panting with the effort it took to take even a single step, and Gwen was finding it more and more difficult to place one foot in front of the next. It felt as if her feet would break off like icicles at any moment.

At the rear a good ways down the slope, Aragorn kept an arm under both Merry and Pippin's shoulders, for support. Merry's lips were white, and icy snow clung to Pippin's sandy hair. She could barely make out their features through the thickening downpour of white around them, but she could see they were half-frozen with cold. Gwen slowed her pace to walk with Sam, who struggled a short ways behind her. Silently she offered him her hand for support, which he clutched desperately, like it was a lifeline.

Together they followed the hazy gray form of Gandalf, though he had grown wraith-like and fuzzy in the storm. She looked back at the others following her again, and saw that Frodo was flagging badly, and Boromir was doing his best to stay with the hobbit, though the heavy winds were nearly bowing them both over with each gust.

Legolas and Gimli were both covered in snow, but the dwarf had taken to shoving it from his path with his broad ax, muttering savagely about 'mines.' Legolas seemed to have the best time of them all, of course, as he was able to walk lightly over the snow. His hair _was_ frosted with snow, and his skin looked whiter than usual, but he seemed mostly unconcerned by the harsh conditions. _Elves are so friggin lucky._

She didn't really have it in her to be angry at the elf, though. This mountain sucked any way you looked at it, no matter who you were.

Though her thoughts were rather frustrated and black, Gwen forced out a smile for Sam, who was gripping her hand so tightly she thought it might break. He needed reassurance now more than ever. She couldn't tell if the pain was from his grip or the cold seeping through her gloves. "Frodo!" Aragorn's voice filtered through the whistle of the winds around them, sounding far off. Together Gwen and Sam turned to see Frodo a good ways back down the mountain, and a path could be seen in the snow where he had rolled back down the slope.

Boromir could be seen picking up something in the snow, and Gwen squinted to see better. "He's got the ring!" Sam murmured, and in his fear he clutched her hand harder, making Gwen wince. A trickle of unease grew within her at the sight of Boromir once again enthralled by the Ring. She remembered with mounting suspicion how adamant he was about taking the Ring for Gondor before he offered to join the Fellowship. _He is too easily swayed by it._

It worried her greatly.

Aragorn called out to Boromir, but it was lost on the wind to her ears, but to her relief, Gwen saw Boromir give the chain back to Frodo. The tension of the situation only made the mountain seem more formidable and miserable, and it was hard to return to the path Gandalf had made and continue to walk up the mountain slope.

* * *

They passed over the first peak quickly after that, and Gwen soon saw for the first time the true scope and breadth of the mountain range that she had learned split the whole of Middle Earth in two. Had it not been heavily snowing, she might would have enjoyed the sight of so many large peaks rising towards the sky. _The mountains are magnificent,_ she thought, shivering violently, _but deadly._

Gandalf led them carefully through the winding paths, and at many points they had to place their feet _just so_ to avoid slipping to their deaths down the mountain side. Many curves in the narrow road brought them precariously close to the dangerously high edge, and to Gwen's acute terror, she could see also just how far up the range they were from these places. _Holy mother of God and molasses._

Gwen was pretty sure Legolas didn't appreciate being climbed like a monkey in that moment of fear. She had not realized how terrified of heights she could be. But there was nothing for it. The height, the cold, and the wet kept her strung as tightly as a bow string ready to fire. The company had been forced to bunch up together, carefully, on tiny ledges around the mountain, which creaked so ominously Gwen was positive they would crack beneath her feet and be the death of her.

Thankfully, she could stare at Gimli's dwarven helm quite easily as distraction. Aragorn walked just behind her, carrying Merry. Legolas moved behind him, and Boromir held the rear with Pippin on his back. Poor Bill was being led behind, barely clearing the snow drifts.

The storm around the mountain was blowing harder than ever. It swept snow into her eyes viciously, and every step she took was precariously close to the edge. Gwen tried not to look down. _Holy shit. Holy shit._ She tried desperately to keep her vision clear, but the strong gusts whipped more wet, white snow into her face with every second that passed. Behind her, Aragorn clutched her shoulders and she heard him yell, "Be careful!"

The edge was a hairs-breath from her, and she couldn't move with fear. _No, I'm going to be reckless!_ _The ridiculousness of Aragorn's worry made her feel like she was going crazy._ Gimli lurched backwards into her suddenly in that moment, causing Gwen to lose her balance.

 _Oh my god, I'm going to die. Fall right over this fucking mountain and that will be the end of me._ Aragorn steadied her with his free hand. Gwen started to chant in her head, as she always did in stressful situations. _It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay._ A disembodied voice interrupted her mantra in the next moment; it was a deep tone that whipped her straining nerves into a frenzy. The mountain shook ominously with a groan, and Gwen cried out with fright. _What the hell was that? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

"He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf! We must turn back!" Aragorn yelled past her, and his words clearly frightened Gandalf. The wizard raised his staff and chanted something – she couldn't understand the words – but it seemed to her as if the two voices on the wind were locked in a deadly duel.

The mountains between them rumbled and shook dangerously, and snow pelted them from somewhere above them. _Is it Saruman? He must be doing this – who else but a wizard has the power to make a mountain collapse?_ Aragorn let Merry slip between them for the sake of regaining his own balance, and the hobbit clutched at her hips desperately as the mountain rumbled beneath them.

 _Looks like Gandalf is losing this battle._

Gwen's heart sank and she prepared to go flying off the mountain. A booming crack sounded above them, and lightning struck out, illuminating them huddled on the mountainside. A wall of snow collapsed on top of them, and for a moment Gwen thought she was dead from the weight of it. All her senses dulled as she lay under the blanket of snow. Everything grew quiet.

Desperately she clawed her way up and out of the wet, and could see little holes where the others were trying to do the same. _We've got to get off this mountain or Saruman is going to kill us all._

"Gandalf, please!" Gwen coughed, choking on inhaled snow. "We can't stay here..." her voice died with the shrieking of the wind around them, and Gandalf nearly lost his hat. "Let's go through the Gap of Rohan, Gandalf!" She nearly screamed it, afraid he wasn't listening. "Saruman already knows we're here, so what's the point! We can't stay here!"

"No!" He kept chanting, and Gwen knew in that moment he needed a reality check.

"We are all going to die, Gandalf, if we don't go. Let us make for my city." Boromir's voice boomed out. Gwen felt rather than saw Aragorn shake his head at the idea. "That road takes us too close to Isenguard, Boromir." Gimli shook the snow from his head as another chunk from above rained down on them. "If we can't go over this mountain, why not go under it? Through the mines of Moria."

The mines seemed infinitely more appealing in that moment to Gwen than this mountain was, but Gandalf hesitated, clearly torn over the decision. "What are you worried about?" she shrieked, trying to be heard over the roar of the wind. "No road is safe...you said so yourself!" Gwen cried desperately. "So pick one, damn it, because this one will kill us all if you don't!" Gandalf looked as if she had slapped him from a daze. Her throat hurt from the exertion of screaming at him. Finally, he nodded, looking defeated, his hand holding his hat in place on his head.

"Let Frodo decide – he is, after all, the Ringbearer."

All eyes turned to Frodo, whose lips were blue from the cold. "We will go through the mines." Gandalf looked concerned, but weary and beaten. The Fellowship turned around and moved back down the mountain, but with the roaring storm it was much slower going than climbing the pass had been.

By the time they'd made it to calmer skies, half the Fellowship was frozen from cold. The snow had eased off the farther down they went, but Saruman's fell voice kept the winds blowing into the night. Desperately, Aragorn and Legolas built a fire, and all ten of them sat around it, close, for warmth. They rested in this manner for much of the remaining day. Together they ate a meager meal of jerky and hard bread, as no one had the energy or will to forage and hunt for something more.

Gwen looked back up at the Caradhras Mountains, infinitely grateful to be away from them. The heat from Gimli's palm over hers on one side, and Frodo's on another had begun to seep through her icy body. _What a terrible day._ Silence reigned as the Fellowship regained a smidgen of strength enough to talk. A short ways away, she could see Gandalf sitting on a rock, alone, puffing on his long-stemmed pipe; he looked, in that moment, quite defeated. She sympathized with him. _This isn't his fault. We knew this journey would be hard, and he's just one man after all._

Gwen pulled her hands from those of her friends' and stood slowly, her aching back and hips protesting painfully. She breathed through her nose to help ease some of the pain. _I think I pulled some muscles coming down the mountain._ She shuffled to Gandalf, her movements were quite loud, and her joints were stiff.

"Gandalf? Are you okay?" Up close, she could see his face was red and chapped - obviously wind-burnt. His hands reflexively clutched his staff, and he grunted in response to her question, eyes faraway and lost in thought. _He's_ not _alright._ "One second, Gandalf." She went and grabbed the ointment Lord Elrond had given her for minor cuts and abrasions, hoping that Gandalf would appreciate the small kindness she could offer.

She returned and stood before him, and bid him to close his eyes while she rubbed the minty goo on his face. He made a sound of relief, barely audible. "Thank you, _elen._ It feels better already." He didn't look at her, but stared down at his weathered hands.

"When we left Rivendell..." She trailed off, wanting to make him feel better somehow. Softly, she continued, "We all understood how dangerous this path would be. We all feel you are the one to lead us – that remains unquestioned, Gandalf." She paused, and Gandalf didn't speak, but she knew he listened. "Saruman is an evil bastard, you know that, and we all could feel how..." Gwen's thoughts broke away from her. "I don't know how to put it," she said, seeking the right word. " _Malevolent_ he was on the mountain. You did your best against him."

 _My spirits would be low after such an encounter too, though.._

"What is good and right does not always win out against that which is evil," she touched his arm gently, trying to convey comfort. Seeing their "leader" like this was greatly disturbing to her. "Those mountains are dangerous enough without Saruman trying to make them dance to his tune. Don't blame yourself, Gandalf. You couldn't have known we would face that, and we are all okay."

At last the old man turned his head and smiled fractionally at her. "You are right, of course, Gwen," he paused. His eyes met hers, and she suppressed a shiver at the grim knowledge she saw there.

"But I know what we _could_ face in Moria, and it is much, _much_ worse than anything Saruman can conjure up. That is what I worry for now."

* * *

 _Please review._


	19. In the Dark

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Eighteen: In the Dark**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _January 13th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

"This riverbed used to be filled with roaring water – the Gate-stream, it was called." Gimli explained sadly. "And ahead by many miles, it is said you could see the Stair Falls. Ach, but I bet it was a sight for sore eyes after so long a journey such as ours." Gimli's eyes grew cloudy with joy before misting over with a solemnity Gwen had come to associate with dwarves.

"Alas, 'tis all gone now," he murmured quietly, as if to himself.

Gimli was thrilled to be traveling to Moria, even if Gandalf wasn't. Gwen pondered and worried over Gandalf's words, but accepted that at this point, the choice had been made. At least one of the Fellowship was happy with the decision. The normally less-than verbose dwarf had been regaling the Fellowship with tales of his people's comings and goings and of their ancient civilization for the last hours; Gwen could tell he was immensely proud of his heritage. _As he should be._ _From her observation, elves and dwarves were both old peoples with equally admirable qualities, and it was curious that they failed to get along better._ _Perhaps they just share too much history with one another,_ _Gwen mused._

 _Which made sense._ But her mind, however, seemed to linger on other things entirely.

She had dreamed of home again last night, and it had been another vivid memory of her past. Oddly enough, she saw not the Witch-King's attack on her or her family as was usual, but the events of the days after she had awakened in the hospital. As Gimli talked endlessly about his people, Gwen allowed her mind to wander back to those hard days...

 _They were discharging her – finally – from the hospital today._

 _For as much as her mother and father worried over her, and had insisted that she take it easy and rest, Gwen wanted only to leave. This bed, the clinical, wholly unfamiliar room she was in, and the throb of her abdomen served only as reminders of the trauma she wanted only to forget._

 _The stitches in her abdomen itched, and the annoying IV leading from her arm to the pole by the bed worked to give her body one last infusion of painkilling drugs she really did not want. The door opened, and her mother entered the room quietly, clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the cafeteria. When she caught sight of her daughter sitting up in the bed, with her feet dangling off the side, the elder woman immediately set the cup down and rushed to her side, alarmed._

" _What are you doing up already? You'll tear your stitches!" Her mother's voice was weary and somewhat sshrill with nerves. They both knew that Gwen wouldn't be so careless, but nonetheless, she didn't protest as her mother insistently moved her frail form back under the sheets; soon enough, Gwen found herself again laying prone on the bed. God, but she was so numb and heavy! The painkillers were doing their job wonderfully, but she felt so very weak._

 _And she was tired of feeling weak._

 _Her mother brushed aside a stray curl from Gwen's face, reading the frustration that gathered and showed so easily there. The sight of her child in that bed brough tears to her eyes. "I know you are, baby." Gwen hadn't realized she said those words out loud._

 _With a hasty sniff, Gwen's mother smiled weakly, wanting to be encouraging rather than weepy. But it was hard. "You scared us so bad, you know that?" Her voice trembled. "Your father and I thought –" she broke off, her voice wavering dangerously. She patted her daughter's hand as if comforting herself with her daughter's presence. "Well, we should have known you wouldn't give up so easily," she laughed softly. "It's not in your nature to give up on anything or anyone, is it?"_

 _Gwen didn't have the will to answer her smile. It was true, she used to be that way – never a quitter, always a fighter. But was it still true? Did she have any strength left to fight for herself? Or had he taken it all from her?_

 _Something had changed for her._

The memory faded, and Gwen was pulled back to the present by the sound of Gimli speaking again.

They were walking along a dried-up stream bed now, as great walls of stone rose up alongside them. "This was once the great River Sirannon, before it was dammed up and contained," he was explaining. "We will see the lake as we pass through the Doors of Durin. 'Tis not so magnificent as it used to be, but still, a sight to behold." Gimli beamed. "And to see the Doors...oh, you have seen nothing more grand, I can assure you!" He nudged Pippin and Gwen, who walked on either side of him.

Gwen smiled absently at the dwarf, though her thoughts were still heavy and contemplative. Time had placed some distance between who she was today and who she had been before the Witch King's brutal attack had changed her. For so long, her outlook had been bleak and dark, and all good things seemed closed off from her. But slowly, over time, she began to regain the inner strength she had felt she lost to him – and she had spent the year relearning herself – her views on the world, her flaws. The things that made her Gwen Carrick. It had been a long process – a hard one, but she felt now more like her old, positive self.

She had to admit, if only to herself: knowing that he was still alive – for as much as a wraith can be alive, anyway – caused her to question herself once more. It was somehow harder knowing that her attacker was still out there somewhere. Gwen was left to question if she had it in her to face him again. It was a sinister feeling, that wondering. Would she be strong enough? Or would she grow weak against his unearthly power once more? He knew who she was and that she was here in Middle Earth – he had said her name up on Weathertop, before attacking Frodo.

Gwen knew she had to be prepared to face his strongest persuasions and his darkest magics, and it made her uneasy to think that if he knew she was here, he could know about Jessie being here, too. Though she wasn't sure that Jessie _was_ in Middle Earth, but logic dictated it deserved consideration. She could only pray that her friend was safe from harm, where ever she was. The threat the Witch King and his followers presented taunted her waking thoughts.

 _But I'm different now – and that bastard will not have the advantage over me this time._

When they ever met again. She had to be sure of that.

With great effort she forced her thoughts away. The sun was setting quickly in the sky, and they picked up their pace, as the doors into Moria could only be see by moonlight. Nobody wanted to wait another day if they missed their opportunity tonight.

"The elves of this area once were great allies to the dwarves." Legolas murmured rather quietly, as if hesitant to add to Gimli's conversation. "But Sauron destroyed even that when he invaded Eregion." Gimli looked surprised and impressed that the elf prince knew this information, and it seemed to Gwen that this might be a tentative olive branch between them.

"That is very true, elf. True indeed." He didn't look exactly happy to admit the elf was right about anything. Gwen smiled to herself. _Gimli is as stubborn as a mule and Legolas isn't far off himself. I wonder if they realize how alike they are._

The Fellowship left the riverbed after a while, choosing instead a road that at one time might have been very worn with travel, but was now covered in ever-growing foliage and tangling brush that made walking rather difficult. They walked along the high walls of Moria, and soon a gleaming ripple of water could be seen, and Gwen surmised this must be the lake Gimli spoke of.

The moonlight was quite good tonight, and it shined clearly onto the water, casting it in otherworldly glow. "They say there is a watcher in the water," Gimli whispered, "a wicked beast of many tentacles and horrifying maw. I wonder if it is true..." Gwen's eyes rounded, and she hoped to God there wasn't one. _It sounds creepy._

Legolas looked down at the dwarf.

"You speak of a spawn of Morgoth?" he asked, clearly surprised. "Those foul creations are a bane on land and water alike." Disgust visibly shaped his handsome features. "I hope that the rumors you speak of are incorrect," he said. Gimli nodded in agreement, and Gwen goggled at them, quite exaggeratedly. They looked at her together, puzzled by her odd behavior.

"What?" Gimli fairly growled out the words irritatedly after a heartbeat's pause, and Gwen laughed gaily, clapping her hands lightly before clutching her stomach, absolutely tickled by the pair. She had to stop moving and bend over to get her breath back. Boromir and Aragorn looked with faint smiles, but Legolas looked as though he thought she had lost her mind. Finally, after a long moment, she was able to motion between dwarf and elf with a broad grin on her face.

"You two," she gasped for breath, still laughing. "Actually agreed on something! For the first time since I've met you." Gwen chuckled for a few minutes more at the pair before falling into step between them again, clapping them on their backs. "And it's so funny to me," she continued with mirth, "Because you didn't even notice." The two shared a glance that said she was out of her mind, but Gwen merely ignored it. "It's a start, boys. It's a start." Gimli scowled at her, but she could see his heart wasn't really in it. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but Gimli interrupted with a sudden gasp of wonder, and they both looked curiously to see what he was ogling.

Illuminated within the rock wall by the light of the moon, Gwen could see a flowing caricature of a door glow against the stone, scripted with elven runes, the same ones as were on her blade.

 _Well that's not your average door from Home Depot, now is it?_

She goggled at the thing, in awe as the rest of them were. Beautiful glowing script ran over the wall, and it was obviously imbued with great magic. Clouds covered the moon, and the door faded. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli whispered, answering her question before she could even ask it. "To be seen only under the _most special_ of circumstances."

Impressed, Gwen studied the markings as they reappeared. _That's pretty cool._

Gandalf, however, seemed unimpressed and rather unconcerned with their awe. He approached the door, read the inscription upon it and immediately began speaking in another tongue. Clearly, he was all business. " _Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!_ " He cried out in a foreign tongue, raising his staff above him. Gwen could see runes in the door, near the top, but couldn't read them.

The entire Fellowship waited, expecting something to happen, and it was rather anti-climatic when nothing at all occurred. "What's the door say?" Gwen whispered to Legolas. He bent to her ear and whispered back, "It says, 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Speak Friend and Enter,'" the tall elf murmured. Gwen puzzled over the words' meaning. _Sounds like a riddle to me._

Gandalf seemed to be having trouble getting the right words to make the doors open – he tried many phrases in Elvish, some in what must have been Dwarvish, and even more in a language she had no idea about, and when nothing worked, he grew irate. Bill snorted nervously behind them as a wolf howled close by– sounding too close for her to be comfortable.

Gwen shivered. _I hope we don't see any more of those monstrosities._

Their previous encounter with the wolves had been nerve-wracking, as only the beasts glowing eyes could be seen moving around them, stalking and preying on them like rabbits in an open field. Aragorn had worried they would attack one of the hobbits or all of them at once. The creatures even seemed to track their movements at night, and had followed after them for days. Luckily, nothing had come of the encounters. _Nothing yet._

While the others made themselves comfortable waiting on Gandalf, Aragorn and Sam busied themselves by unloading Bill of his burden, and Gwen realized that the mines would not be a welcome place for a beast of burden such as he. It was sad that they would have to leave the poor pony behind; Bill had been through a lot with them. She crossed over to Aragorn, wanting to help. She was careful to avoid the lines of brackish water leading out to the lake as she went. It didn't look clean, and Gimli's suggestion of beasts lingered in her mind.

Gwen hefted her pack from Bill's back wordlessly, listening as Aragorn comforted a distressed Sam. It seemed he did not want to part ways with the animal. Poor Sam. Gwen could hardly blame him. "But how will I know he'll be safe, Strider?" He murmured lowly, clearly saddened and worried for the beast.

"Bill knows the way home, Sam," Aragorn reassured him gently. "He'll be okay." Sam nodded, silent except for faint sniffles that indicated his emotion. Gwen's heart went out to the hobbit; it was never easy to let go of anything that gave even a moments comfort in such hard times, especially with all the hard nights they had endured lately. Gwen stroked the pony's stout neck absentmindedly, her eyes taking in the dim settings around them; she watched the water warily, noting how it was impossible to see even an inch into the water.

 _That lake isn't normal._

Gwen felt an irrational nervousness being even close to the body of water. The water itself was grayish green with brine and general nastiness, and the smell it gave off was wholly unpleasant – like day-old uncooked eggs. Recalling Gimli's whispered story of the watcher in the water, Gwen shied away from the water's edge instinctively once the task of unloading Bill was done, deciding then and there to take a seat between Boromir and Gimli for protection.

Gwen poked the dwarf in the side, giving him a mock angry look. "Your story about the watcher has my nerves up," she growled, half joking. Boromir looked at her curiously, and Gimli told the Gondorian his story of the watcher. He twirled his axe between his hands nonchalantly as he spoke, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest to be beside the water.

By the time he was finished, Boromir, too, glanced nervously out at the still, dark water before replying, "Let us hope for a two-fold blessing, then: that Gandalf remembers the password to the entrance, and that there is no watcher to worry of."

Gwen couldn't agree more.

* * *

Gandalf threw this staff down in disgust after about an hour.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of elves, men and orcs," the wizard spat, frustrated. He was clearly upset with himself, and Gwen wished she could help him, but she was a little afraid to bother the wizard in his increasingly foul mood. _He's already bit into Pippin tonight._ The hobbit in question was throwing stones into the lake moodily as a result. _We're just all tired. I wish he would get the damn door open already!_

Gwen studied the door again. Legolas stood leaning against the wall a short ways away. "Legolas, what does the door say again?" The elf's eyes shifted from wizard to woman instantly. "They say, 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Speak Friend and Enter,'" he intoned lowly, clearly bored and ready to be moving himself. Gandalf was ignoring them completely, intent on the task as he was. To Gwen, it seemed fairly straightforward, but she dare not speak up right now. _Speak the word friend, and you can enter. Oh come on, Gwen, tell him what you think!_

Tentatively, Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Gandalf looked at her with irritable eyes before she even spoke, and she swallowed what she was about to say. The sound of stones plopping into the lake were the only sound she could take in then. "Pippin," Aragorn hissed behind her, and it seemed everyone watched the water for signs of coming danger. _Gulp._ Still, she tried to tell Gandalf what she thought. It couldn't hurt at this point, right?

"Uh...to me it seems like a riddle," she began tentatively. "Speak the word, friend, and the doors will open." Frodo, who had been contemplating the door sullenly along with the wizard, jumped up then, as if he, too, now understood what the words meant.

"What's the elvish word for friend, Gandalf?" he gasped. Gandalf looked curiously between them, gravely speaking, _"Mellon."_ Stone creaked and then dragged across the ground as the Doors of Durin at long last opened. Gandalf, eyebrows raised, chuckled at how simple it had been.

"Finally!" It seemed his bad mood was instantly dispelled by their good fortune. _Thank God._ Gwen didn't think she could handle a pissed off Gandalf for much longer. He was already intimidating enough as it was. The Fellowship, eager to continue, grabbed their gear and gathered around the old wizard as he placed an oddly-shaped crystal in his staff and used magic to light it. He led them through the doors cautiously.

Gimli, who walked in front of her, was practically dancing with excited glee as they moved forward. "Soon you will enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves, and there is none better to be found on this earth!" he exclaimed. It seemed he couldn't move fast enough to get inside the stone walls.

The antechamber leading down into the dwarven halls was dark and eerily quiet. The air had the musty smell of a closet not often opened or used. It didn't seem as if anyone lived here. A trickle of unease filtered through Gwen, and she tripped on something at the edge of the stair. Aragorn, who was walking behind her, steadied her immediately. Gwen flashed him a grateful smile, though she wasn't sure he could see it in the dark.

Gimli didn't seem to notice anything going on around him at all, and was talking again.

"This is the home of my cousin Balin," he crowed. "And they call it a mine!" His voice echoed through the cavern, and Gwen could tell the space was much larger than she could see, as his voice was quickly lost in the cavern. She caught sight of wicked looking arrows littering the floor and the skeleton of what must have been a dwarf sat against a pillar, covered in shadow, just out of the full glow of Gandalf's staff. Gwen's heart leaped into her throat at the sight.

Horrified, she squeaked out, "Gi...Gimli."

 _Please tell me that is not what I think it is._

He turned to her, but Boromir saved her from speaking. "This is no mine," he concluded. "It's a tomb." He pointed beyond the dwarf, and Gimli whirled back in shock and disbelief at Boromir's words. Gandalf's staff clearly revealed what he spoke of. With dawning horror, the dwarf knelt near a corpse with a mournful cry, but Gwen could not comfort him; she was still reeling at the sight of the dead around her. _This is what Gandalf meant by the mines being dangerous. Something is definitely not right about this place. Something had killed everyone here!_

"We never should have come here," Boromir said regretfully, his voice echoing through the antechamber eerily. No one disagreed, but Gimli's cries were all that remained in the silence. The hobbits were clogging up the doorway, and Gwen turned her head to see Legolas forcibly pulling Gimli up the stairs in their haste to get out of the mines. Several things happened in quick succession, nearly simultaneously: Frodo was grabbed up by something, and she lost her footing on the simultaneously slick, wet stone steps. Merry and Pippin were screaming out help for their kinsman, and the others nearly bowled over her staggering form in their haste to get out the door to see what was the matter.

Gwen followed as quickly as she was able, drawing an arrow from her quiver and notching it with shaking hands. No amount of training could have aided her in that first dangerous moment. She had wanted to be prepared for anything, but nothing could have prepared her for this. A monstrous beast had risen from the murky water, its tentacles waving around dangerously. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Gwen recalled Gimli's words, scoffing and afraid. _That's no watcher; that is a fucking Kraken!_

Fear zinged through her as she realized Frodo was caught in the clutches of a waving tentacle, and he was hollering – screaming really – for Aragorn. Gwen nearly dropped her bow trying to notch it properly. Boromir and Aragorn hacked away at two of the tentacles ferociously, and Legolas was trying to get a shot in with his bow. Realizing she was doing Frodo no good standing frozen, she too, aimed a shot at the Kraken spawn's disgusting maw gaping up out of the lake.

She let an arrow fly, and though it was off her target slightly, the creature made a pained sound as the arrow _thwacked_ into a wriggling arm. Really, it was so large a beast that _any_ shot would likely not have missed. The tentacle holding Frodo aloft fell to the water, and Frodo was caught by Boromir in a bruising grip the man couldn't control. All that mattered was that Frodo was free of the beast. Still, Gwen found it difficult to tune out all the other things her senses were telling her enough to fight well.

The men splashed through the water, desperately trying to put space between them and the vile creature. It was fairly mobile, as Gwen realized with dawning revulsion that it could _move_ on its' tentacles. Gandalf cried out, "Into the mines!" He fairly booted Gimli's sobbing form back down the stairs as they rushed into the antechamber once more. Gwen had no desire to return to that death chamber.

"Are you guys crazy?" she shrieked, dodging a tentacle as it tried to knock her to the ground. _I really do not want to go back into that...cemetery._

Legolas was slowing the creature with a couple of shots, trying to give her time to move, but when she didn't budge, he grabbed her up off her feet, strong-arming her into the entryway of the mines. "There's no choice, Gwen!" He roared, tossing her down the steps to stare down at her fiercely. "Go!" he commanded. She tumbled into Aragorn's back and was steadied by Pippin, who was shaking with terror.

She watched as the creature from the lake tried to follow them into the mine, and its tentacles tore at the Doors of Durin, crumbling the ancient wall into ruin. Stone came crashing down onto the stairs, effectively trapping them inside in the darkness, but away from the beast. _Well that's just lovely. Great._

The only sound for a moment were their harsh breaths. Tremors seized Gwen as the dank, chilled air inside the mines brushed over her, and her adrenaline levels began to fall. She had once read that adrenaline had been known to allow people to do insane, otherwise impossible physical tasks in response to horrible circumstances.

She was ripped from her thoughts as Legolas gripped her from behind at the waist and pulled her into his embrace. "Do not scare me like that again!" he cried, in Westron. He broke off into rapid Sindarin that calmed quickly before returning to the Common Tongue. "What where you thinking, _elen?_ " he inquired.

She knew exactly where her mind was at, even if Legolas did not. "I was thinking that I didn't want to be down here in the dark," she murmured apologetically. Gandalf tapped his staff against the steps, illuminating them all, bruised and weary and very, very scared.

Gwen had a really bad feeling the night would only get worse.

* * *

 _Please review._


	20. A Night in Moria

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Nineteen: A Night in Moria**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Gwen was relieved and grateful for the light of Gandalf's staff.

It wasn't that she feared the dark, not really, but who didn't infinitely prefer seeing to blindness? The mines – now a tomb, as they had discovered quite uncomfortably, for a fair number of dwarves – was impenetrably dark without the faint, glowing light of the wizard's gnarled weapon. There was not much in the days prior that Gwen felt she had to be thankful for, but she was ridiculously pleased that not only was she _not_ alone in this giant cave that led where God only knew, but that they would not have to trip and stumble their way in the dark.

Beyond the threat of goblins they now faced, Gwen was all too aware of the things that could linger in dark places. _I only hope we don't meet anything that wants to kill us in here._ There wasn't anything wrong with a little hope, was there?

A huge sniff and a garbled, wet sigh broke the stiff, uncomfortable, _tense_ silence that had fallen; Gimli's sobs had not relented yet. His tears were breaking her heart. The stout, red-bearded dwarf was so gruff and closed off it was easy to forget that he even had people he loved, too. Gwen was ashamed that she had subconsciously come to that conclusion about the stern warrior, especially given she had not had a conversation with him that had not consisted of fighting or battle. _Of course he has family – a home to protect. Why else would he be here in the Fellowship otherwise?_

Gwen couldn't relate to the pain he was feeling, not really. She had never lost a loved one like this, in a manner so abrupt and unexpected as this had been. She could only imagine what he was feeling, and she imagined at this moment that he was feeling hopeless. Gwen _did_ know how that felt.

Moved by compassion, Gwen placed a hand on Gimli's trembling shoulder in comfort. He jerked instinctively, the little metal pieces he had placed within his braids clinked together as he moved, but after a moment, seeing it was a friend, he relaxed. Gwen could practically _see_ him working to control himself, to pull himself back from the edge of grief that had claimed him. Gandalf and the others, it seemed, were content to wait for him before moving on, and sat quickly upon the cold stone steps beneath them.

Gimli began to calm, breathing deeply through his nose until he wasn't sobbing anymore. She stayed close by, offering what comfort she could with her presence. "I always hoped the news wasn't true," he rumbled in his deep voice mournfully, to no one in particular. "I always held out hope..." His voice broke on the last word, and Gwen's heart went out to him.

 _I can't imagine what it's like, expecting to see family and in its place finding death and destruction. It's terrible for him._

She caught sight of a dwarven skeleton with a helm on the skull and suppressed a shudder, willing her eyes away from the grossly tragic sight. Boromir was right, Moria was like a tomb. _I feel like a grave robber._ When it seemed at last like Gimli had regained his bearings enough to begin the somber trek through Moria, Gandalf stood and began to lead them silently through the hazardous remnant of the one-great dwarven city. Gwen stood at Legolas' elbow, beyond ready already to get out of this place of death for good.

"This place makes me uneasy as well, _elen_ ," Legolas murmured into her ear, seemingly reading her mind. Gwen was both surprised that he would admit his feelings to her and comforted that he felt the same way she did. "I have no love of caves," he added, flashing a thin, tense smile over her head that she only barely caught. "It is, I am afraid, a trait common amongst elves." He looked back at her, catching her raised eyebrow. Motioning to the cavern walls around them, he said, "I believe it has something to do with the walls."

Gwen caught the touch of humor he added to his explanation, returning his smile hesitantly. She wasn't sure how she felt yet about being inside caves themselves, having never gone into one before, but beyond the fact that this particular cave network was little more than a burial ground for countless bodies, it bothered her not knowing what kind of enemy may be hiding around each corner. Legolas seemed to catch the troubled trend of her thoughts. He brushed her body with his own accidentally, and she absently noted the way his chest rumbled as he spoke. He looked down at her from his taller vantage point, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We'll get through this together, yes?" She nodded, and concentrated on planting her feet solidly with every step, praying to any God that would listen that she didn't fall and crack open her skull like a melon on the slick steps they descended down into the cavernous hall.

"I suppose there's nothing left to be said," Gandalf muttered distractedly, and Gwen wondered if he was affected by the death of Gimli's kin as the rest of the Fellowship seemed to be. "We have no other choice now, except to go forward thus. Carefully," he acknowledged sternly. Gwen took the final step onto more solid ground, wincing when something crunched underfoot. The air was stale and musty, and smelled of mold.

Gandalf patted her shoulder reassuringly as he passed by her, but she could see his mind was not fully with them at the moment. He was thinking very heavily on some topic or another, but that was hardly new. Gwen supposed she noted it only now because she was so anxious about this leg of their journey. _Gandalf will keep us safe._ _She had to keep her faith in that._

She was even grateful that Boromir stood close; his large presence comforted her as well.

Gandalf's voice echoed through the tense silence, warning them, "We must be swift, and silent. There are things in these mines that none of you can fathom," he said ominously. _That is so comforting, Gandalf, thank you for that PSA._ He turned from them, hunched over his staff in a strangely feeble way, dimming the light that shone from the crystal somewhat. He began the trek through the inky darkness, content, it seemed, to lead them through the unknown of the mines.

As they walked, Gandalf's meager light illuminated the fallen greatness of Moria's depths. With one last wary look over her shoulder, Gwen followed. While she worried the dark and gloomy nature of the mines would make her anxious and interested only in exiting the ruin, she found there were many things to see as they walked.

The massive breadth and scope of these mines astonished her, and it amazed her that the dwarves had been capable of such a large operation as the one here must surely have been. Based on what Gimli had described to her, dwarves enjoyed grand things over simple ones, and this aspect of their nature was reflected in their architecture. Gimli's people _were_ the best at this kind of thing, or so she thought as they passed a massive, crumbling statue easily a hundred feet tall.

She had surmised from the times Gimli discussed it with her, that the dwarves were not particular creatures of comfort, either. If it could be improved, they would as a people not be content to leave anything alone to serve a simple function. But in matters like these, Gimli had been closemouthed. If there was one thing he _would_ speak about, however, it was his people's accomplishments. Gwen had found it strange that he had not been more willing to talk about Moria at the time, but now that she was seeing it firsthand she understood. _He had worried about them._

As they passed from enclosed space to increasingly more open ones, Gwen began to feel as if she were a tiny bug in a giant, cavernous space. Though she could not see the size entirely in the inky darkness, she _could_ feel it; the voluminous space was too cool to be small, and every noise echoed softly through the darkness, even a steady _drip, drip_ of a drop of water into the air. Their company walked cautiously and quietly through the dark, single file like ants, noting grimly and careful of the weak places in the stone where a body could plunge through into nothingness.

It was hard not to step a single foot out of place, and the grave feeling of danger their walk created within her reminded Gwen of the great heights of cold peaks of Caradhras. _At least the mines are warmer than those damned mountains had been._ Indeed, the space was almost sticky with humid air.

Gwen resisted looking down over the edge of their path; she had discovered a paralyzing fear of heights while on the mountains, and Moria, it seemed, packed a triple threat of danger for her: darkness, high spaces, and the threat of orcs and foul creatures. _Oh, don't be a pansy, Gwendolyn._ Merry and Pippin had moved forward in their line somehow and now gripped her elbows like fearful children themselves. In truth, she didn't mind a bit.

In fact, their clinging distracted her from her own fears; to further distract herself from the constant anxiety of the perilous walking, Gwen began to sing softly the first song that came into her head. Which, of course, was the Beatles. Her father had instilled a proper love of the British group in her. "Blackbird singing in the dead of night," she sang softly. "Take these broken wings and learn to fly..."The song soothed her nerves, and helped her remain limber even when the rock of the wall beside her seemed to crumble beneath her fingertips.

The hobbits relaxed a bit after a few moments of listening to her voice too, though Gwen was sure it wasn't in the least bit as melodious and pleasant as the actual Beatles to listen to, not that _they_ would know that really. It did the trick, however, and she felt the tight ball of fear that had been wedged in her abdomen melt away somewhat.

"Quiet now, _elen,"_ Aragorn whispered from up ahead warningly, and she was embarrassed to see Gandalf, Gimli, and Boromir shooting her looks of reproack. _I didn't realize I was being so loud._ She had been, though, and now in silence the air seemed even gloomier than before. They walked for a short while after that, taking in the sad sights of broken mining tools and ancient relics of a people long dead as they passed. The mines seemed endless to Gwen, who was only familiar with Earth's mining facilities, and even then only barely. Those operations had nothing on the breadth and scope of Moria's mines. _They had to have mined this place for generations, at least.._

"What were the dwarves looking for in the mountains, Gandalf?" she asked quietly. Gwen hated that her voice echoed, but she really wanted to know. Gandalf spoke softly as he walked in the front, his voice echoing softly back to them just as hers did to him.

"They searched not for gold or precious stones or jewels, but for a metal called mithril," he explained. "It is rare across the world, but Moria was particularly wealthy in her deposits." Frodo walked close to him, listening keenly to Gandalf's explanation, as they all were. Gimli probably already knew everything there was to know about mining, and didn't seem to want to add anything, so the conversation fell off after that. It was probably for the best; any sound could mean danger here.

Still, Gandalf's soft voice broke the silence that had descended on them. "Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that King Thorin of the dwarves gave to him after helping him with his dragon problem." He looked at Frodo with a small smile. This information seemed to interest Gimli, who, speaking for the first time since they began their trek, rumbled, "Oh, but that is a fine gift, indeed!"

Gandalf smiled back at the dwarf. "Yes, it was," the wizard agreed. "Worth more than some kings entire fortunes, even," He glanced down at Frodo with amusement in his eyes. "I never told him," he continued with a touch of humor, "but it was worth more than the whole of the Shire!" He chuckled at that, and Gwen cracked a smile at the shock reflected on the hobbits' faces.

"That's a lot of money, I'm guessing?" Gwen murmured, and Pippin nodded up at her. "Aye, a very lot."

"My father, the Thain of the Shire, has many holdings and valuables – he is very, very, _very_ rich." Merry added quietly, "To say a single piece of armor has more value than the whole of our land and people, well, that is quite a claim indeed," he said, clearly impressed. _Interesting._ Gwen hadn't known that about Merry.

Onward the Fellowship walked, through endless tunnels and open spaces, through patches of horrendously gaseous air and thick, choking dust. Finally, when more than a handful of hours had to have passed, Gandalf paused, causing Sam to bump into his frame unexpectedly. Merry and Pippin had forgotten their fear and released her a short ways ago, leaving Gwen to walk with Legolas, who looked more tense than she had ever seen him. His features were drawn and he seemed less alive and more like marble.

Concerned, Gwen touched his hand gently. His eyes bolted up to meet hers questioningly.

"Are you okay?" She whispered in Sindarin. He glanced at her with a slight smile, but the tension she felt in him was plain his face. "I will be fine," he whispered in a thready voice.

She nodded, but her eyes lingered on him for long moments as he stopped to rest along with the others. Gandalf seemed to be confused, and the path they had taken diverged onto two separate paths. Take the wrong one and they were screwed.. "This place is unfamiliar," the wizard murmured. "I do not know it." Gandalf's voice echoed back, and carried a note of disbelief within it. His words made Gwen dread the coming hours; they already knew what Gandalf forgetting something could mean for them all.

So, the Fellowship laid down their gear and sat, deciding now would be a good time for a break. The hobbits clustered together, except Frodo, who sat by Gandalf. Gwen positioned herself nearby, glad to be able to relieve the tension in her thighs.

She passed out a bit of dried fruit to the weary hobbit wordlessly, knowing he would be hungry. Frodo gratefully took what she offered but didn't speak. He seemed as troubled today as he was after they came down from Caradhras.

Sam sighed as he ate his meager snack, eyes unfocused as he hummed a tune. _He must be missing home._ Gwen knew from talking with him the stout hobbit was the most attached to the Shire of all the four hobbits, though of course they all loved and missed their homeland. "What are you thinking of, Samwise Gamgee?" She smiled at him gently when he jerked a little in surprise. He looked down into the black abyss over the edge of the stone, a slight smile on his features. "Bilbo's birthday party," the hobbit said shyly.

He blushed and spoke softly. "Rosie Cotton dancing." He flushed red brilliantly, perhaps astonished at his own honest answer, and Gwen knew he must love this girl he spoke of. "I'm going to marry her, you know," he added firmly. He sounded more confident about that than anything else she had ever heard him say.

Gwen smiled at him and he reddened even more His hands were busy with the bit of cloth on his knee.

"I think that is wonderful, Sam," she replied earnestly, not wanting him to think she was joking with him. "She is a lucky girl." He looked at her with awestruck, disbelieving eyes. "Really!" Gwen laughed. "You are a very brave, loyal hobbit – why wouldn't she be lucky to have you?" Merry and Pippin joined in, startling them both as they appeared on either side of them.

"I know what will cheer you up, Sam! Let's teach Gwen a drinkin' song." Pippin looked positively thrilled at the prospect, and Gwen couldn't help but laugh at their carefree attitude, even here in the mines. Sam did perk up slightly at this, and he looked to her for a response. Gwen threw up her hands with a laugh, catching the attention of Boromir and Aragorn a short ways off. "Well, alright. I've never sang a drinking song before."

"Now, repeat after us..." Merry tapped a beat with his foot while Pippin caught it with his hands.

For a while, their antics kept the dark of the mines out of their minds, and even the serious Legolas and Gimli had a twinkle in their eyes, but she could tell the noise bothered them. Gwen sobered and quieted, realizing once more they danger they could be in. _What killed those dwarves? Legolas thinks goblins but there were so many dead._ They had yet to see anything that could have caused such a massacre.

While the hobbits entertained Aragorn and Boromir with another, lady-inappropriate song, Gwen went to join Frodo and Gandalf at the other end of the crumbling entry space they sat in. Gandalf was deep in thought as he puffed on a pipe, and Frodo looked morose and afraid – trapped in his thoughts, as he often did of late.

The Ring lay out of the confines of his shirt and on his chest openly. Gwen was surprised to see it, but ignored its malevolence and took a seat next to the handsome hobbit. "Penny for your thoughts?" She bumped his shoulder with her own as she sat, shaking him out of his reverie.

"Oh..." He looked at her, confused, and she explained, "I mean...do you want to talk? You look as if you have a lot on your mind." Frodo looked away briefly, and Gwen thought, not for the first time, of how alone he must feel in this quest, despite having nine other companions with him. He was silent for a time, staring out into the dark abyss, and Gwen nudged him gently again.

"It'll help if you talk about it," she advised him gently. "That's why we're all here, right? To support you." She looked down at his curly head seriously. _You don't have to bear this burden alone, Frodo._ _Gwen_ willed him to know that. She placed a hand on his gently, and he instantly grabbed hers in a desperate grip, as if he were a drowning man in need of a lifeline. Still, he was silent. Helpless anger rose in her heart for him. _I hate that he has to do this. I hate that this ever had to happen to him._

She sat with him, a silent companion, and Gandalf's pipe smoke filtered around them. In the dark abyss below, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. She watched for it for a long while, and saw it again, just there. "Something's down there." She whispered it, but Frodo and Gandalf both caught it. Gandalf coughed for a moment before he removed the pipe from his lips, nodding in confirmation.

"It is Gollum."

 _Gollum? Who is that?_ Before she could ask, Frodo exclaimed, "He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr! I had hoped he was dead." He seemed upset to learn the contrary, and Gwen rubbed his hand soothingly. Gandalf watched them keenly, puffing away on that pipe of his.

"Escaped? I do not know that that is true. Perhaps he was set loose. He has been following us for three days," Gandalf murmured, sending a thrill of fear through Gwen. _What does this creature want with us? He must be drawn by the Ring!_ _It didn't surprise her that Gandalf was aware of his presence._

Gandalf confirmed her thoughts, "And now the Ring's power has drawn him to us."

Frodo was silent, and she watched the creature carefully. It crawled around much like a monkey. "Who is he?" she asked softly. Gandalf sighed then, the sound pitying, his pipe smoke filtering toward her more heavily now as the air flow through the cave changed directions. "Ah, but that is a sad tale, Gwen," he said heavily. "He was once a hobbit named Smeagol. He was taken in by the Ring's power, and killed his cousin for possession of it."

Gwen recoiled at the thought of murder, and her horror she felt showed plainly on her face. Frodo just sat silently, listening and watching Gollum move about far below them. It seemed almost like the Ring was deadening his responses to such horrors. Or maybe it was just the quest itself. Either way, to see it so plainly worried her a great deal.

She looked at the thing crawling below, revulsion crawling faintly through her. To her the creature looked more like a hairless rat than a hobbit. "He kept the ring for a very long time before Frodo's uncle Bilbo came into possession of it," Gandalf continued quietly Gwen gaped for a second at the wizard before turning to Frodo. "So that is how you got it!" she exclaimed. "The Ring, I mean. From your uncle? I always wondered."

She recalled seeing the aged, white-haired hobbit in Rivendell, but had never been introduced to him. Frodo nodded, a bit sadly. Gwen looked back at the wizard, filled with so many questions. "And he followed us because of the Ring? How can he sense it?" she asked. "I thought only the wraiths could do such a thing." Gandalf piped smoke from his mouth absently as he considered her questions.

"He will always have a need for the Ring, though he hates it as much as he loves it," the wizard explained, moving his hands here and there as he talked. "The Ring has twisted him completely." Thought she felt badly for doing so, Gwen was moved by pity for the creature. _No person should ever have to face such a terrible fate._ More than ever she wanted to see the Ring destroyed.

Cold awareness flooded her at what Gandalf's words meant for Frodo, who as the Ringbearer risked the same fate. _Surely the Ring cannot corrupt him like that._ But she knew automatically that it could, and would, given the time.

"It is sad that the Ring has done that to him," Gwen choked out.

Gandalf nodded even as Frodo scoffed scornfully. "It is a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when had the chance," he ground out. Gwen stared at him, agog. _That is not the Frodo I know talking._ Gandalf pierced him with a sharp gaze, forcing Frodo to look at him as he spoke.

"Perhaps pity was the cause for his mercy," Gandalf's words were a clear reprimand. "I am not certain this creature deserved death by your uncle's hand, Frodo," he murmured around his pipe, which he now had clenched between his teeth. "So many in life do not get what they deserve – Gollum may be one of them." Gwen thought of her own past, and how badly she had wanted her attacker's death for so long. How she still did, especially knowing what he was. _Well, he definitely deserves to die._

Frodo looked mildly ashamed of his words, but there was a flame of something else in his eyes. His hand clenched in hers and she brushed her fingers across his knuckles. Gandalf continued, "Could you place the knife against his throat and end his life?" he asked. "So many are content being a judge, but not an executioner."

He looked back at Gollum, and Gwen could see him almost clearly as he crossed into a shaft of light. _That could be Frodo one day._ Her heart ached at the thought. Gandalf laid down his pipe after a final puff. "My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet in all of this, for good or ill... before this is over." They watched the creature in the deep for a moment longer.

Gwen could feel the tension in Frodo.

"You are not Gollum, Frodo." Gwen whispered. At last Frodo's mask of control cracked, and a hint of the deep burden he carried was revealed. The Ring gleamed dully from his chest, mockingly, as if disagreeing with her words. "I wish Bilbo had never found the ring," Frodo cried, voice cracking; he clenched her hand to the point of pain.

"I wish none of this had happened to any of us." Gwen drew him into a hug as Gandalf looked on with distressed eyes. Together they shared a look filled with sadness.

"So do I, Frodo," Gwen murmured into his hair. His pain filled her up, and she wanted nothing more than to help him. Gandalf's compassionate eyes watched them closely. "So do we all, Frodo," Gandalf added, "but neither you nor I can change our fate; the path is already before us." Gandalf's words were wise. Frodo sat up from Gwen's chest, eyes dry but sad and solemn.

"There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Gwen is proof enough of that," he added. Frodo looked from Gandalf to Gwen. Gandalf continued, "Gwen was meant to be here, just as you were meant to have the Ring." The wizard's eyes twinkled at her, and she smiled slightly. _Is that true, really, though? Am I 'meant' to be here, or is just the result of a madman's actions?_

She didn't know. But Gandalf's supposition seemed to comfort the hobbit, so she did not voice her thoughts.

"Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it." Gandalf raised his eyebrows at them both, and Frodo cracked a small smile. Gwen squeezed his hand encouragingly. The shadows in his eyes had lessened somewhat, and that pleased her.

"Just remember, Frodo," she whispered. "You're never alone in this. Never."

* * *

 _Please review._


	21. Shadow and Flame

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Thank you for all the support and kind words. Keep reading and reviewing folks!  
_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty: Shadow and Flame**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _January 15th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen had never had a more restless night than the one she spent in Moria.

She couldn't get thoughts of Gollum and Frodo out of her head. Knowing that the piteous creature was following them set her on edge, and worries for her friend kept her tossing and turning all night. Would the Ring cause Frodo to become like Gollum? The thought was difficult to bear. It was worse knowing she could do nothing to help him bear his burden; in that, he was singularly alone in this Fellowship.

All Gwen wanted was for the ring to be gone and for Frodo to be free of its weight. The entire quest hinged on his ability to withstand its evil. Without Frodo this quest they were on amounted to nothing more than a scenic tour of Middle Earth. They were really only there as escorts and as moral support, but it was a job she took seriously. _Even if you're only trying to find a friend and go home_ , she admitted to herself.

Her inner voice was not always kind to her.

She also worried about being in the mines so long. It was obvious that goblins had all but destroyed the great dwarven realm – and she had no desire to meet up with even one now. In her estimation, they had already lingered within these doomed halls for far too long and each moment spent further wandering the mines could mean meeting up with a goblin or orc. Every sound kept her on the precipice of sleep, unable to take the fall into oblivion, so that when Aragorn shook her and bid her to get up for breakfast, she was up and moving about almost instantly.

A sleepless night made for a terrible day, though, and it was an omen she didn't need at all.

Gandalf remembered the way they needed to take at last that morning, thankfully, and with luck they would be out of Moria that day. _Thank goodness. I want some sunlight._ _Gwen was beginning to feel a little lethargic and slow, like a body could feel during a long winter without good sun. She wasn't the only restless body eager for the light of day, either._ So, after a cold breakfast of jerky, fruit and hard bread, the Fellowship collected their gear and descended through the tunnel after the wizard, who lighted the way yet again with this staff.

Gwen brushed her teeth carefully as they went, needing the normalcy of routine to keep her mind off her worries. Plus, her teeth were nasty. She tried not to think about how her breath smelled. Some habits Gwen could never change no matter where she was, and teeth-brushing was one of them. How long had it been since she had had a shower? Gwen shuddered just thinking about how long she had gone unwashed. _It's a miracle I haven't gotten some kind of infection from the nasty._ _Ugh, Gwen didn't want to think about that._

But no one else seemed to worry about it overmuch. Legolas bumped her from her thoughts quite deliberately. "The air grows thinner and more sweeter, _elen_." His eyes twinkled with humor that surely the elf was hard-pressed to find. "This is a good sign, indeed!" Gwen responded with a smile of her own, but did not reply; she had to concentrate on placing each foot carefully in front of the other as they descended the narrow steps.

Gandalf 's staff beamed brighter as they passed through the next alcove, and he broke the relative quiet by announcing: "Behold!" he cried. "The great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf." The light illuminated far up into the cavern, and Gwen could see great – absolutely huge – carved columns running through the room for as far as her eyes could see. _Wow._ The massive, ornately carved structures were a hundred times as tall as she was. The stonework alone had to have taken generations to complete.

And Gwen was not the only one amazed by the sight. Gimli and Legolas shared identical looks of awe at the architecture and craftsmanship of the dwarven people. Sam whispered, "Have you ever seen anythin' like it, Miss Gwen?" he asked, awestruck. She placed a hand on his shoulder with a shake of her head.

"No, Sam...I haven't," she murmured. The dwarves were truly master craftsmen. Who were the dwarves that created this place? Were they gone, too, like the elves of Eregion? Or had they merely moved on from the danger they had found in Moria? Curiously, Gwen looked to Gimli for answers to her questions.

"Tell me about the dwarves that lived here, Gimli," she requested quietly. The dwarf, she knew, had still not recovered from the shock of discovering his kin dead in this place. He looked a little reticent to speak, but after gentle prodding he was off and telling of how his kin settled here.

"This place was the ancestral home of Durin the Deathless, the First of our Fathers," he rumbled lowly. "Here he and his kin worked the quarries and forges for nearly two ages..." Gimli trailed away, eyes unseeing momentarily, "Until something awakened under the mountain and slew all the folk who lived here," his gravely voice quivered, and she knew the emotion he felt was far from passing. "I don' know what it is, but tis' called Durin's Bane, and it truly was," he concluded in his gravelly, sad voice.

"They were great folk.." he trailed off, and silence fell as the Fellowship contemplated his words. Gwen was a little rattled to hear of yet another something awakened in the mountain. Especially if that something killed off a whole host of dwarves at some point. The Fellowship made their way through the great columns, and Gwen was glad that Gandalf knew the way through the enormous caverns. _A body could be lost in this place forever_ _, she thought as they passed through enormous arch after enormous arch._ It was a grim thought, knowing the history of the place.

A pang of bodily awareness hit her and she groaned, causing Legolas to look at her in concern.

"I need to, uhm," Gwen blushed red at having to announce her present need. "I, uhh, I need to go to the bathroom." She was embarrassed. Gandalf's eyes grew wide before registering her words, understanding she would never do her business near them. "Be quick, girl." _Oh I definitely will._ _Gwen was starting to get antsy, and a trickle of unease had started to flow within her._

Gimli suddenly startled the group with a noise of surprise, and before anyone could stop him, he broke ranks with the Fellowship and ran towards a doorway to their left. Gwen wanted to growl with frustration and need. _I really need to pee! Where on Middle Earth is he going?_

Gandalf called him back, but he kept going, determined to see whatever was in the room. Aragorn turned to her. "We'll be through that room, there," he gestured towards the direction Gimli had gone with a groan. "Do your business and meet us, quickly," he commanded sternly. Gwen nodded and took off behind a pillar, grateful to be able to go at last.

Long moments passed, and the silence was deafening now that the others were a distance away. Gwen's head shot up in shock and fear when an echoing clang rattled through the mine, low and consistent. It would be a signal for any goblins still in the mine that they were there. _Oh no! What's happened?_ They had been so careful to be quiet inside this place!

As she did her business, Gwen became aware of how vulnerable she was with her pants around her ankles. Peeing. On stone. With no toilet paper. _Ahh the joys of Middle Earth,_ _she thought with a touch of humor_ _._ _Gwen_ finished up as quickly as she could, but business was business. She grew antsy and nervous, aware of the yawning darkness of the caverns and of how acutely alone she was.

Heartbeats passed, tense and fearful as she listened for any new sounds. Gwen began to hear strange scratching noises high above her. She tensed, and suddenly the cavernous space seemed to shrink around her. Gwen reminded herself to breathe, and the tension would pass. Fear streaked through her as she wrenched up her pants and fastened them.

Drums sounded in the distance, low and churning, and heart-stoppingly close to her position; she felt the overpowering urge to run as fast as she could to the Fellowship and hide. Something was out there. _Christ! Breathing won't do me a damn bit of good now._ _Terror-struck, Gwen scrambled for the alcove in which the others had gone, cursing her need for privacy._ She had almost made it to the door as the drum beats grew in tempo, and the sound of movement found her human ears. The orcs of Moria knew they were there, now, obviously, and were coming towards her.

Gwen screamed bloody murder when two arrows whizzed by her head.

Hands of icy fear clawed at Gwen's chest as the drum beats grew faster, and the sound of movements grew clearer and clearer. Who knew how many there would be? The room wasn't far from her – thank God. Aragorn and Boromir apparently were very aware of what was going on and closed the doors to the room behind her as she rushed inside. "Orcs," she breathed, slightly winded by her heart-racing run. "Orcs are coming," she gasped out.

The blood pounded through her head achingly. Sam cried out, "Frodo!" drawing Gwen's attention to the Ringbearer, who drew a glowing, blue-silver Sting. _Great. Of course._ _Frodo's sword was much like Gwen's in that it glowed with ethereal power whenever orcs were nearby. This was proof that Gwen was right._

Gwen remembered her own weapons and drew an arrow from her quiver, loading the bow she carried with trembling fingers, not knowing how far the enemy was from the room. Her hands shook, but she gripped the weapon harder, determined to get past her fear. Arrows _thwacked_ against the door, signaling the horde's steady approach. _First battle of your life and you barely remember your own weapons._

 _This moment had been what Gandalf had wanted to avoid._

Gwen took a place next to Legolas in front of Balin's tomb, prepared to defend the less-equipped hobbits from their enemies with her life. Where she got the courage to forget her own survival instinct in those moments, she didn't know. But the sight of the hobbits as they huddled with Gandalf for their own protection stirred something fierce within her even as Boromir tried to force the doors shut with old dwarven axes.

Still, she couldn't keep her hands from trembling and her knees from shaking. The surreality of this moment in her life might have made her laugh or rage or cry, had it not been so critical she remain level-headed. Now was not the time to be cursing her fate in Middle Earth. This event was the result of her choices, now. And so she would fight, to the best of her ability.

Inhuman cries rose up from the cavernous space beyond their room, sending chills down Gwen's spine. Aragorn watched the orcs' arrival through a crack in the door.

"They have a cave troll!" he growled incredulously. The announcement sent a jolt of fear down Gwen's spine, too, but the lack of fear on her companion's faces steadied her resolve as nothing else could. She had never killed anything in her life – except while hunting with Aragorn, but that was entirely different. Could she take a life, even one so wretched as these creatures? _Do you really have a choice, Gwen?_

It seemed now she would have no choice – it was them, or her companions, and she would defend her friends over any ugly ass creature any day. If _Aragorn_ , and _Boromir_ thought they would make it out of this, she would put her faith in that and fight like hell to help them. _Who knows how many foes lay on the other side of that door?_ _She feared the number._ But she couldn't afford doubts now. Gwen shifted her weight from foot to foot while they swiftly prepared for battle. The tension was palpable as Gimli drew his ax wit ha fierce snarl and stood on Balin's tomb behind her.

"There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath," he growled, irate and snarling. "I will rip their hearts out with my teeth!" His fierceness was a buffer between Gwen and crippling fear. He bolstered her courage.

Gwen laughed out loud at him, and to her it sounded nearly hysterical. "You are fucking nuts, Gimli!" she cried. But she loved it. Fear danced in her blood, making her giddy with adrenaline. Legolas glanced sideways at her, concerned, but she ignored him. Gwen could hear the inhuman shrieks of the orcs coming closer, and together with Aragorn and Legolas, readied her bow and aimed at the door.

"Remember your aim, _elen_." Legolas' breathed beside her without glancing her way. She twisted her mouth in concentration, aiming carefully for the doors. She would remember. The old wooden things began to shake with the force of the orcs tying to batter them down. The ancient timber wouldn't hold for long. So, they stood, still and nearly holding their collective breath, waiting for the right moment to strike. Gwen flinched when a nasty-looking weapon tore a hole in the door, but didn't let loose the arrow she had notched. The space was too small for her to hit.

Legolas shot expertly through the tiny section, killing the orc trying to break through instantly. At the sight of the hideous creatures, Gwen had to force a wave of panic down. Never had she ever seen such a twisted amalgamation of evil magics and life, combined together into one being. They wanted to _kill_ her, in mindless rage and bloodlust. _They'll kill you for sure if you panic. Calm, Gwen, Calm._

Aragorn shot an arrow at an orc as the door came down and the horde rushed in, all too quickly turning the scene chaotic. Gwen let loose her volley with a cry of fear and desperation, and barely registered an orc's death as she reloaded. She shot at as many foes as she could from where she stood before a great roar sounded, nearly scaring the piss out of her, and a giant troll came smashing through the door with a crash. _There's the cave troll._ _Gwen's eyes grew wide at the sight of it, and she was nearly paralyzed with shock._

It crashed into the room, and Gwen was forced to dive out of the way of its club. It roared at them, clearly pissed off they'd interrupted it, or maybe it was angry about the giant chain swinging from its neck, who knew? Clearly, the orcs had not allowed it freedom.

Gwen shot an arrow into the troll's shoulder, but it didn't register any pain or slow its movement at all. _Oh shit. Not a good sign._ Orcs continued to stream into the room in an unquenchable flow, and Gwen was forced to draw her sword with her left hand to defend herself when the horrid beasts came to close at last.

Gwen had no desire to be in melee range of any of the creatures that swarmed the room, but she had no choice. Burningstar sang with every blow she scored, though, and it encouraged her to continue. As she fell into a steady rhythm, Gwen calmed and seemed to find, in those moments, a sort of equilibrium.

Orcs fell around her and her blade turned black with orc blood as she and her companions worked to stem the tide of the enemy. It was a bloody job, and before long her face was splattered with black blood that she was forced to ignore. It was as if she had left her true self – a person who hated violence in movies and always wanted to do what was good and right – behind in those moments, and become a person who felt no shame or guilt in killing.

In practicing with the others, Gwen had always found it incredibly hard to truly attack them, but in this matter of life and death – for herself and her friends – she found slicing and dicing to be almost second nature. In some closed off part of herself, she found the ease with which her blade found flesh to be fascinating and disturbing, but in the moment she would do what was necessary.

She was determined to do her part; she would not be carried like a defenseless little girl. The stars and vines that decorated her blade shined brighter and brighter as she fought, blinding her if she looked at it. It was a great distraction for her enemies, though, who couldn't seem to stop looking at it as it swung towards them, and therefore never scored a true blow against her.

The cave troll roared with pain, bringing her out of her battle zone with a curious whirling of her senses. Gwen swung around to see Legolas jumping nimbly from the troll's shoulders, and he'd clearly scored deadly blows against the massive creature. He had placed arrows within the troll's head, but still the monstrous creature refused to die. _Shit. Some things just need to give up already!_

Gwen, momentarily distracted, found herself rushed by three orcs simultaneously, and though she stabbed one quickly, the others were able to knock her off balance. She crashed to the ground with a groan of pain, rolling desperately when the orcs above her stabbed at her with grotesque, dirty blades. With rising desperation she kicked out at them, trying to knock even one off balance.

Luckily for her, one kick struck, and sent the two beasts crashing together away from her. In the moment it took for them to regain themselves, she had scrambled up and onto her feet. With a roar of rage, the orcs rushed her, and she was forced to parry a downward swing from one orc while ducking to avoid the other creature's chin-level swipe.

Gimli appeared alongside her at that moment, his axe splitting the air expertly as he swung it through one enemy as it rushed towards her once more. She was able to finish the last one off herself, shaking her head in disbelief at the lack of intelligence these creatures had shown. _Why keep running_ into _the axe?_ Still, their dull wits meant a win for Gwen and the others.

"We'll make a warrior of you, yet, Gwen!" Gimli roared over his shoulder before rushing towards another throng of orcs pouring through the door, heedless of his safety. She watched his deadly progress with disbelief and awe. _He is a fucking nutcase..._ _But Gwen admired his prowess nonetheless._

High, terrified hobbit cries interrupted her thoughts. Gwen looked around, noticing with shock that Merry and Pippin were dangling from the cave troll's back, doing their best to keep the creature from Frodo with shallow stabs to its back and shoulders. She was horrified to see the curly-headed hobbit slumped on the floor across from her, and she rushed out, trying to get to him. _What happened? No!_

The troll tossed the two valiant hobbits to the ground, knocking into her hard, sending them all to the ground in a heap with a roar of pain. Gandalf and Aragorn attacked the weakening troll vigorously, and Legolas shot an arrow into it's dripping mouth. With a low death groan, the troll crashed to the ground, finally defeated. Gwen, covered by dazed hobbits, sat up slowly. She _really_ didn't want to make any potential wounds worse by moving quickly.

 _Who knew flying hobbits hurt so much?_ After gingerly feeling out her own wounds, which were few in number, Gwen checked to see if Merry and Pippin were okay. They groaned and grumbled but for the most part seemed fine. It seemed that she had absorbed much of their weight as they'd come down.

For long moments, they lay heaped together, breathing. Gwen felt as if she was waking from a daze. She had just fought in the first battle of her life – and she _had lived._ For a moment, she couldn't move, the relief she felt was so overwhelming. "Frodo!" Sam's anguished cry reminded her that the hobbit was wounded – maybe even dead, and the relief she felt came crashing down into horror. _Oh please no._ She shoved Merry out of her lap impatiently, trying to stand and get to Frodo.

Gwen got her feet to see Aragorn cradling him like a child. He was wheezing painfully, but miraculously alive. Gwen stood there, watching with disbelief when Aragorn pulled the pike from the wounded hobbit, but he seemed okay aside from being winded. She gaped at the jagged points on the weapon, horrified. _There is no way that's possible._

A storm of relief filled her regardless. _He's alive. Thank God._

"I'm alive; I'm not hurt," the hobbit wheezed out. Frodo breath was a rattle in the air, and the Fellowship converged on him eager to see the extent of his wounds. Sam cried softly at the sight of his friend in such a state, but his relief, too, was tangible. Aragorn looked aghast at the deadly pike in his palm.

"That blow should have skewered you," he murmured, astonished. It seemed that he was speaking all their thoughts. Gandalf sheathed his sword with a soft, barely there smile. "I think there is more to this than we can see," he murmured with a touch of humor. Frodo parted his shirt at the shoulder to reveal a beautiful silver chain mail vest. Sam touched it reverently, and Gimli gasped. It glittered like dulled diamonds.

 _That must be Bilbo's mithril vest._

"Mithril!" Gimli cried. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins!" Gwen agreed wholeheartedly, and she was certainly glad that Frodo was alive, but she wanted nothing more in that moment than to get the hell out of dodge. She wiped her blade on the shirt of one of the orcs laying nearby to clear it of the disgusting black goo before sheathing it awkwardly, trying not to notice the goo that covered her, too. Aragorn helped Frodo up gently, murmuring to him.

Drums began to beat again, ominously, making Gwen jerk and look around warily. _Shit._ "I hate to be the one to bust up this party, but can we get out of here?" she asked nervously. "I think we'll have more company soon." She looked at the broken door with a touch of fear, and Gandalf nodded in agreement, his eyes twinkling at her despite their grim surroundings.

"To the bridge." _Bridge? Oh just effing great,_ _she groaned._

* * *

Gwen nearly lost her cookies at the sight of the swarming masses of orcs around them. _There is no way of this green earth that we can get through_ that! They had ran from the tomb room and through the great halls and manses of Dwarrowdelf, pursued en masse by orcs – great hoards of orcs. She tripped going through two arches, and Aragorn hauled her up desperately, but Gwen could see they were surrounded no matter how fast they ran. _Holy fucking shit that's a lot of enemies._

The orcs closed in, and Gwen knew their prospects of survival were slim to none against so many creatures. Burningstar glowed brightly in her hand when she pulled it from the scabbard, and the light clearly hurt the orcs' eyes. She jabbed it out at them, into the cavernous space between them, and they fell away from her in pain.

"Get away you filthy creatures," she hissed anxiously as more orcs came forth to fill the void she had made, and her heart sank. _I don't want to die in this place._ Gwen knew she would have no choice in the matter, however, when it came right down to it. It made her sad to think of dying here, in the dark.

Just as she thought the orcs would swarm them and take their lives, a great, furious roar filled the halls of the dwarven city. A thrill of something darker than fear rooted her at the sound, and she instinctively knew whatever made the sound was not friendly. _What the fuck was_ that? An otherworldly, red glow filled the archways, dispelling the shadows therein with flame-like light, and the orcs around them grow agitated and fearful. Again, they shied away from the light. Another echoing roar reverberated through the hall and the orcs lost their courage completely, scattering fearfully away from the source the light and sound. _It can't be good, whatever it is, if the orcs run in fear of it._

"What _the devil_ is this?" Boromir cried, and his question was everyone's. Gwen couldn't answer, but she was sure Gandalf could. She looked at the wizard fearfully, and his closed eyes opened, and were full of worry and pain. _Oh no...please don't look like that._ It was bad news if Gandalf feared something.

"It is a balrog," he explained gravely. Legolas' eyes widened fractionally, and had Gwen not been looking at him, she would have missed the fear in his face. Seeing him afraid did not encourage her. "A fiery demon of the ancient world." Gandalf said, sounding weary and resigned. Gwen closed her eyes, trying to process what he meant.

 _Uh, yeah...that's bad, alright._

* * *

 _Please review!_


	22. Out of Dwarrowdelf

Disclaimer: See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-One: Out of Dwarrowdelf**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

The throaty, ominous roar sounded again through the near emptied halls once more, and though the Fellowship looked to him for guidance, Gandalf seemed unable to do anything in that moment. As he closed his eyes, Gwen saw clear, grim resignation on the wizard's face, and it did not comfort her in the slightest to see it. Obviously whatever a _balrog_ was, beyond something that could terrify masses of goblins by sound alone, it was not good for them.

Anxiously she eyed the massive, golden-bathed pillars lining the ancient dwarven city that they had so admired previously. From somewhere deep within the mines, the balrog could be heard moving, the sounds of his footfalls echoing up through the cavernous spaces. This, at least, seemed to propel Gandalf out of his reverie and into action. _Tell us what to do, Gandalf,_ _she begged him silently._

The wizard opened his eyes, and she saw that a somber determination now filled them. "This foe is beyond any of you," he murmured grimly, gripping his staff and sword in clenched fists. He turned away. "We must move, _now_." Before the echo of his words had faded, Gandalf had gone, and the others were left to follow him as swiftly as they could. Aragorn and Legolas kept Gwen moving as quickly and steadily as they could, and Boromir and Gimli brought up the rear with the hobbits in between.

Gandalf barely spared them a backward glance as he ran, rushing them forward with as much haste as his wizened bones could muster. They were sent running down the corridors of the once great city at break-neck speed, more than once finding themselves at dead-ends, forcing the company to backtrack and lose precious time they did not have. As they left the great hall, they entered a monstrous, cavernous room of narrow, steep stairs, and Gwen was terrified to discover each lofty set of steps was situated above a dizzying height. She nearly froze with fear, growing so afraid she couldn't move.

When they came to the first terrifying staircase, Gandalf paused, pushing Aragorn forward in front of him with a low growl. "You must lead them now – Go!" Aragorn looked at him as if he had grown another head, clearly shocked at the genial wizard's suddenly frightening demeanor, but did as he was bid and rushed down the stairs, heedless of the great heights over which he was being placed.

Clasping her wrist firmly, Aragorn pulled Gwen with him as they went careening down the next set of stairs, and she screamed helplessly when the enormous space of the room rushed toward them almost unstoppably. Their forward momentum almost sent them over the edge, but Aragorn's already painful grip on her tightened as they scraped to a halt right near the edge. Without pausing, he continued down the next flight. Gwen tossed a glance over one shoulder, praying none of the others came as close to death as she and Aragorn had.

Horrifyingly, Boromir nearly fell over the edge of the staircase headfirst, and _would_ have fallen to his death had it not been for Legolas's lightning quick reflexes. The elf snagged the Gondorian's fur-lined cloak and tunic quicker than she could see, and for a moment the pair teetered on the brink over the chasm. _Holy shit this place is a death trap._

"The bridge is near!" Gandalf's voice roared over them from behind, but his words were quickly drowned out by terrifying, hot fire that spewed from the room they had just vacated moments before. Gwen could see the bridge in question in the near distance, and in the cavernous room, it seemed so small and unsupported that every fiber of her being went cold. _There is no way I'm crossing that._ _No fucking way._ It was an irrational thought, born of pure terror and irrationality. Aragorn, bless him, kept her moving with his own body when her will fled, and they traveled as swiftly as they could down the stairs towards the bridge in the distance. Gwen wanted to look back again, to check on the hobbits at least, but they were moving so quickly she could barely keep her legs going. Great roars and flames of fire entered the halls as they went, adding a new layer of terror to their perilous flight from the vacant city.

And she was flagging badly. Though Gwen had grown stronger in the last months and was able to trek for miles without stopping, this all-out running was beyond her. She was wheezing, and sharp pains split open her sides, making it hard for her breathe. "Ara-aghhh!" Gwen tripped and nearly fell off the side of the steps. A ragged scream tore from her throat, only to be stifled when she was caught in a bruising grip by Boromir from behind, who steadied her with firm hands and hard eyes.

"Courage, little girl _,_ " he said gently. Her eyes met his, and he nodded at her in an encouraging way. "Move now," he commanded sternly, his cadence changing almost instantly. Panting, Gwen forced herself to do as he said, using Aragorn's body as a beacon to focus on. They continued across the deep spaces of the city, flying down each stair with reckless speed toward the bridge that would lead them out of the mines and away from this _balrog_ Gandalf was so grimly determined not to meet. The goblins, it seemed, had been pursuing them as the balrog had been, and had begun raining arrows onto them from their perches within carved spaces that must have once been dwarven homes. Their aim was frighteningly accurate.

Just as the bridge came into close sight, the company came to a staircase that had been partially destroyed, leaving a gaping space between the two sections of the stone. They were forced to stop entirely, gathered along the edge, leaving them vulnerable to enemy fire.

"Aragorn! What do we do?" she cried out in panic, her voice shrill with fear. The ranger studied the distance between the bands of rock critically. They would be unable to just step across, she noted, but the section on which they stood was higher than the other; Gwen nearly fainted when she realized she would have to _jump_ across the chasm. Weakly, she sagged into Boromir's firm body, her legs unable to support her properly. _Oh no. Hell no._ Legolas, of course, immediately jumped. He landed nimbly on the other side without a problem. He motioned to Gandalf, who followed without a moment's hesitation, and upon landing was steadied by the elf easily. Goblin archers continued shooting at them from across the city, and trapped as they were at the end of the stair, they were sitting ducks to the flying arrows. Gwen could feel her body locking up under the strain of it all – her fear, the orcs, the heights. No sleep. _I don't want to die like this._

She was fast loosing command of her wits. It was all getting to her – badly. Gwen let out a low moan of terror as Merry and Pippin were _tossed_ lightly to Legolas by Boromir and Aragorn. Fear rooted her to her spot on the stairs, and even humor could not dispel it. Gimli being Gimli, refused to be tossed over like the hobbits. "I do not need _tossing,_ " he stated arrogantly, the bits of metal in his braids clinking in agreement as his head moved with each word. Gwen might have laughed at him had the situation been different. Stubbornly, the dwarf leaped from the stair across the space by himself, landing short of his goal by inches and teetering backwards ominously. Again Legolas' quick reflexes saved a companion on the stairs as the elf hauled Gimli to safety – _by his beard_. It was an utterly ridiculous sight, and judging by the noise Gimli made, it was painful as well.

Arrows whizzed through the air, dangerously close to them, and Legolas shot down two swiftly before turning to her with a quick motion that clearly meant, 'come.' Gwen, still frozen, shook her head in denial even as Boromir lifted her for a toss across the space. She resisted him wholeheartedly, and her struggles made it dangerous for the Gondorian to force her. Aragorn yelled at her to jump, but still she could not obey even as she knew she should. The ceiling shook with the force of another roar from the balrog, and Gwen could see Gandalf grow angry as well. _Gwen, you ninny, get your ass in gear!_ Not even self berating would work in this case. Her terror was too much to deal with.

"Gwen, jump!" Legolas pleaded with her, but Gwen's fear was complete and total, rooting her to the spot she stood on. Boromir leaped powerfully from one section of the broken stair to the next in an attempt to give Aragorn more room to toss her over to them. Now, only he, Gwen, and Frodo remained trapped, and yet the others did not continue running for the bridge. The cavern shook with the force of one great roar of the coming balrog, and great boulders of stone began falling down. A chunk from the ceiling crashed inches from Gwen's feet, and she collapsed backwards with a pained, panicked scream.

Aragorn pulled her up and against him with a hand, even as he steadied Frodo with another. _Don't be such a coward, Gwen. Jesus Christ!_ But she was being a coward, she knew. Ashamed and trembling, Gwen clung desperately to Aragorn, screaming again when an arrow flew straight past her nose. _Oh my god, oh my god._ Their situation was growing more precarious with every second that passed. Another chunk from the ceiling crashed down, this time behind them, completely tearing away a section of the stair, destabilizing it greatly and leaving them on what amounted to a great, floating island of staircase.

 _Oh_ fuck. Bile rose up to fill her gorge as the stone beneath their feet wobbled and began to move.

"Hang on!" Aragorn shouted in her ear. _I'm not about to let go._ And she wasn't; Gwen was all but wrapped around him. The stone beneath them crumbled and shook, swaying back and forth with their shifting weight. "Lean forward!" It was a clear command, and this time fear didn't keep Gwen from responding to it. They leaned forward together, shifting the stone with them, and they began to rock towards their waiting companions. _Closer, closer._ Legolas shot another archer down before opening his arms for her, standing only feet away now.

" _Elen,_ you must jump!" he cried desperately. "I've got you," he promised, his eyes pleading with her. Resigned, Gwen closed her eyes and jumped into the abyss, deadly afraid she would go plummeting to her death. Instead, she landed in Legolas's arms heavily in a tumble of limbs, and he swept her behind him to relative safety. Frodo was next, and then Aragorn, who merely stepped onto the remaining stair where it met with the moving rock. She watched grimly as the section they were just on collapsed completely and fell away into the black void. _That could have been me._ Gwen shuddered, but had no time to dwell on that before she was forcibly turned away. They began running again, following Gandalf, this time even more urgently than before. Boromir's big body pushed her forward incessantly, and he did not allow her a moment's pause. The bridge wasn't far now, she could see, and Gwen's heart hammered in her throat at the thought of crossing it unaided. _There's no choice. Gotta do it._

Giant cracks in the stone beneath them widened into gaps, and from them spewed bubbling fire. Having little choice but to go forward, Gwen leaped over one burning river and nearly fell into another. _I am going to die. Right here. Right now._ She steadied herself frantically, adrenaline fueling her every jolting move. Gandalf stopped at the bridge, waving them past him impatiently. Flames whipped up around them as they went, without any coaxing at all. Gwen stared across the chasm, at the bridge she had to walk to get to safety, vomit rising up her throat. _I can't do this._ She moaned aloud, but it wasn't heard over a great, floor-shaking roar. The balrog was very, very close – she could feel its' heat.

"Across the bridge," Gandalf commanded fiercely. "Go!" He was waving them through, and Gwen nearly tripped as she made the first tentative step onto the hewn rock. The bridge was barely wide enough for one person. She clung to Aragorn's cloak as she went, trying desperately not to look down. Quicker than she expected, they were across the bridge.

"Fly!" Gandalf cried loudly, his voice disembodied by the yawning cavern. He could be seen on the other side of the bridge, still, having not yet begun to cross. It seemed he would be last, after Legolas, who brought up the rear. Sam, Frodo, Boromir, Gimli, Pippin and Merry made their way across swiftly and steadily, and with no problem. Gwen sank down at Aragorn's feet, her back against the wall of the stair, her legs liquid jelly. She was utterly exhausted and her heart was racing. The tempo of her blood racing in her ears seemed to drown out all other noise.

A moment later, Gwen was hauled unceremoniously up by Boromir and held next to him firmly; in further thought, he took most of her weight onto himself effortlessly as he swung her up into his arms. "Gandalf," she said weakly, and he understood. "He's coming," the man ground out lowly. "Worry not." They all stood, watching, equal parts terrified and horror-struck as the balrog appeared from the flame that consumed the far side of the city. It was a hideous monstrosity, with bull-like protruding horns, a body of lava and smoke, and a long, whip-like tail. It seemed determined to reach them, and only Gandalf stood between them and it.

Would he be able to defend them against this creature? Gwen didn't know, but she knew he was their only hope. They could all see Gandalf as he crossed the bridge, sword and staff drawn in either hand. _What is he doing!?_ Did he think the balrog would not follow him? Gwen didn't think it was likely, seeing as the balrog had crossed the whole of the city of Dwarrowdelf to reach them here. Once he reached the center of the bridge, however, Gandalf turned at last to confront the ancient creature. _What is he doing?_ Why wasn't he running? Fear made her struggle again, but Boromir's arms held her close and still.

"You must not, Gwendolyn," he murmured softly into her ear, trying to reason with her. She was terrified for Gandalf; they all were. Gwen watched, clutching Boromir desperately, as the wizard stared down the fiery behemoth bravely, seeming utterly diminutive compared to the malevolent monstrosity. The balrog carried a wicked fire whip in his fist, and it cracked at the air around him menacingly.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf's voice boomed in the space, sounding sure and powerful, belying his smaller stature. The balrog cracked the whip again, seeming defiant of the wizard's words. He placed a single foot onto the bridge as if taunting Gandalf.

Frodo cried out, "Gandalf!" fearfully, as if to call the wizard away from the battle, and it was an echo of each of their thoughts. She wanted nothing more than to leave this cursed mountain behind forever, but they couldn't do that without Gandalf. Tension mounted as they watched their leader face off the demon of the abyss alone, knowing that whatever happened was out of their hands.

"You can feel the power I wield," the wizard cried out, shouting at the balrog. "You know of its power. Turn back, now," Gandalf commanded. The balrog seemed unconcerned at his words, however, and unsheathed a single fiery sword. Gwen watched, horrified, as the giant weapon was raised high above the wizard, preparing to strike him down.

"The darkness shall not beholden you, Flame of Udûn!" Gandalf snarled, wielding his staff in a threat equal to the balrog's. The demon brought its sword down on the wizard, who raised his staff above his head to defend against the strike. The blow of sword on staff created a great flash of light that temporarily blinded Gwen. She raised an arm to shield her eyes but it was not enough, and for long moments after that she was blind to what was going on. Encouragingly, the balrog roared angrily, the sound echoing through the mines loudly. By the time Gwen's vision had cleared, the demon beast had dropped its sword to clutch the whip menacingly. "Go back to the shadow!" Gandalf commanded again. He fairly pulsed with power in that single moment, and Gwen realized that he was not _just_ a wizard, but something else entirely. Something more.

 _He's powerful._ _The otherworldly magic that had never seemed all that apparent in the old man was now crackling menacingly around him; not for the first time, Gwen felt a surreal sense of disembodiment herself, as if she were watching these events from afar rather than experiencing them firsthand._

The whip cracked the air again, making Gwen jump nervously. Gandalf raised his staff and brought it down with a crash on the bridge.

"You shall not pass this place!" He roared powerfully, his words echoing in the cavernous space. The balrog took a step further in defiance of this order, and the bridge cracked perfectly under Gandalf's staff. As it fell away, the balrog could find no purchase with which to hold on to, and dropped swiftly into the infinite darkness of the mines. Gwen and the others breathed a sigh of relief as Gandalf turned away from his foe at last and began to cross the bridge to them. But it was not over yet.

In horrifying, painfully slow motion, the balrog's whip came up through the darkness to snag onto the wizard's ankle, pulling him down off the bridge. For a moment they were frozen, unable to believe their eyes, as Gandalf dangled there into the empty space, holding on only by his arms. And they stood, frozen and unable to help him. Gwen struggled in Boromir's arms, desperate to save her friend, but Aragorn stopped her immediately, sternly. She looked at the ranger in shock, not understanding why either of them would not go to him and help. "Gandalf!" She screamed it, and wanted to rage at the goblin archers who pelted arrows at him.

"We have to get to him!" she cried, twisting in the Gondorian's arms. "Gandalf!" She fought Boromir's hold, but he denied her movement wholly with his strength. Frodo wailed as well, but she couldn't make out the words he was screaming. _No!_ She saw the moment Gandalf gave up trying to get onto the bridge using his own strength. _Why won't you help him?_ She didn't realize she screamed it at Aragorn aloud until her throat throbbed with the force of her words.

Gandalf looked at them sadly, desperately, but he had stopped struggling. "Fly you fools," he all but whispered. He let go of the bridge, and for a moment in time seemed suspended in the air before he plummeted out of sight. Frodo was screaming now, sobbing, and she was being carried from the hall – up the remaining stairs. In shock.

And then there was so much light – too much. And pain, all over. Like a creature unused to the sun after many years in the dark, the light made her eyes stream wetness in defense of her sensitive vision. Gwen was numb, boneless, as she stood just outside that horrible place. She barely registered Aragorn speaking to her, trying to comfort her. _Gandalf is dead._

 _Their leader was gone._ She couldn't help but feel as if their quest was in grave peril without him. How could they continue now? Tears were unable to fall from her eyes; shock and disbelief had numbed whatever pain she felt from his passing. Aragorn held her a moment before he stood, pulling her up with him. His voice filtered through the haze in her mind. "Grieve later. We must move now." Gwen didn't know if he was speaking to her or another. It was cold, no longer warm as it was in the mines, bringing home that they were again _on_ the mountain rather than in it. _We're out of the Mines._

 _Except for Gandalf._ Helplessness and grief remained wedged at the forefront of her mind. What _will we do now?_

She didn't know, and the question couldn't possibly be answered yet.

* * *

 _Please review._


	23. The Edge of the Woods

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: The Edge of the Woods**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _January 15th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen felt as if she were waking up from a very long dream; her mental processes were sluggish and her body was barely responsive to her commands. She stood standing in the sun, dazed and very confused, watching her companions mourn the passing of their leader with a hollow, open pit in her stomach. She felt as lost today as she had the day she had awoken to find herself within Middle Earth, and the feeling was wholly unwelcome. _What will we do now?_

While she was not particularly close with the elder man, Gwen had long since acknowledged that Gandalf was the foundation of the Fellowship. It was his vision, his plan, his words of comfort that kept everyone going day in and day out for the past month. Frodo, especially, had leaned on the wizard. With him gone, what would happen to them all? Would the quest still continue? Would they all end up dead? So many questions ripped through her, each as painful as the last. They forced her to remember moment after moment that a crucial member of the Fellowship was gone, never to return.

 _What will we do now?_

Aragorn and Boromir stood off to the side, arguing quietly about something out of range of the others. Absently she noted how they used their hands to express their emotions as they talked. Boromir cupped his hands in a pleading way, whereas Aragorn was stabbing at the air with one hand, driving some point home. She knew he wanted to leave. But what did Boromir want? Gwen slid her gaze away from them numbly to study her fingernails. _At least the sun is warm._ That was about all that was warm about where they were at the moment. Being back out in the open meant that the chilly wind off the mountain blasted them every few seconds, until they all shivered inside their cloaks.

Their furious exit from the mines had left them all drained, weary, and broken in spirit. Gwen was more than grateful to be out of those God-forsaken mines, but not at the expense of Gandalf's life. She watched as Merry and Pippin sobbed together a short ways away. They had yet to let up. Her own grief was a hollow ache in her chest, but she could not mourn the wizard yet, in her exhausted state.

She gazed around the golden, rocky hills, wary of danger that might be lurking or pursuing them out of the mountains. _Had the creature Gollum survived the balrog attack?_ She shuddered to think of the creature still following them. Her thoughts were broken when Aragorn touched her elbow gently. She jumped, turning her head; Gwen's eyes met his gray gaze, and she could see he grieved deeply despite his desire to leave the mountainside with as much haste as possible. "Help me get them up," he commanded solemnly, gesturing to the hobbits. "We must keep moving." The Ranger gave no other explanation. Gwen studied his weary features before she nodded and wordlessly went to do his bidding, her movements rather robotic and stiff. She ached, but her heart was hurting more than every muscle in her body – for all of them. She knelt to whisper to Merry and Pippin, and helped them stand a moment later. Behind her, Boromir made an angry sound.

"Give them a moment, for pities sake!" he cried. "Can't you see how exhausted they are?" Aragorn turned to face the Gondorian, and Gwen could see this had been their sticking point just moments ago. It seemed that Aragorn would be carrying the mantle of leadership in Gandalf's stead. Gwen saw no problem with that, at least right now. _Someone_ had to have a plan, and it might as well be the future King of Gondor. Gwen bent to retrieve Sam's scattered belongings, her own pack a heavy burden as she moved, each step deliberate and slow.

"By nightfall we'll be under attack by orcs," he explained once more, voice insistent. "We need to move _now_. There is time enough for grief later." She could hear the weariness and grief in Aragorn's voice, as well as his determination. Her heart ached for the Ranger, knowing well enough from her talks with he and Legolas how much he feared the mantle of leader. _Aragorn never wanted to lead us – but now he's forced to._

"Up you go, Sam," she whispered, trying not to collapse with exhaustion herself. In the aftermath of that horrendous flight through practically empty space, the adrenaline that had kept Gwen going came crashing down inside her, leaving her jittery, aching, and so very tired.

Tears tracked down Sam's round face silently, and she forced the knot in her throat down as she aided him in standing, cradling his head to shield it from harm when they collapsed back to the ground in a heap of limbs together, simply unable to move. He clutched at her clothing and sobbed helplessly.

Over them, a good distance away, Aragorn was calling for Frodo, and he walked past her and Sam in his haste to reach the Ringbearer. Gwen's gaze found the hobbit in the near distance, and she could plainly see the grief etched in his features. She also saw emptiness and raw desolation. Her heart stuttered icily in her chest. _Oh Frodo..._

Gwen had to turn away from the sight. "Come on, Samwise," she whispered to the shaking hobbit, drawing him into the crook of her shoulder. "Frodo will need you now more than ever," she said. "Up you go, now." Gwen disentangled herself from him gently, pulling him to his feet in front of her. She nodded, and he looked at her solemnly. She bent and kissed the hobbit's forehead before meeting his wet eyes.

"I know you're weary, my friend," she murmured gently. "I am as well. But Aragorn is right. We must get away from this area. It isn't safe." He sniffed and wiped his nose on a sleeve, nodding. He pulled on his pack, and Gwen turned to Merry and Pippin. Boromir seemed to be attempting to comfort them, but he looked helplessly up at her as they sobbed, their grief unassuaged by his words. Her heart hurt for her friends – they were far closer to the wizard that she had been – but they really did need to get going.

She placed a comforting hand on Boromir's armored shoulder, and he covered it with his own. He stood, and in their closeness she was more aware of his great height. She had to bend her neck back to see his face clearly. Her arm stretched above her head as he straightened, and she let her hand fall away after a moment.

Boromir gave her a sad look. "I know not what to tell them," he began haltingly in a soft voice. "I am no man of gentle words, like my brother is." Gwen had heard him speak a time or two of his younger sibling, a man named Faramir. By the Gondorian's account, he was a gentle soul, and a person Boromir admired greatly. It softened Gwen's heart towards the man to know he shared such kinship with his brother.

He turned from her, joining Legolas and Gimli who were waiting for them with sad eyes and weary faces. She shared a long look with Legolas, words passing silently between them, before turning to the hobbits with a soft sigh. They sat together, holding one another, and still, tears tracked over their features unceasingly.

Gwen knelt before them silently, and they stared at her as if their world had been destroyed. _Not quite the world,_ _she surmised,_ _ _j__ _ust their innocence._ With a soft sound, she opened her arms and they fell into her in their haste for comfort. Gwen held them solidly as they cried, rubbing twin backs and making soothing noises. _Just like mom used to do to me._ _More than ever her heart ached for the world lost to her._

After a minute, she heard Aragorn and Frodo join the others. The Ranger spoke quietly to the group, and Gwen pulled away from her friends. They looked at her, eyes so full of pain she ached just looking at them. "Come now, boys," Gwen whispered encouragingly. "Gandalf would not have you weep for him so much." Another tear spilled from Pippin's eye as she spoke quietly to them. "He would have us continue on as best we can without him." Heartbeats passed as her words sank in, and Merry nodded, wiping his face with a grubby hand. "Aragorn and Frodo need our support now," she said in her best motherly voice. "Can you give it to them?"

Pippin looked over at the others, who were waiting patiently for them, before looking back at her. He nodded with a small twinkle of a smile. "I'll do him proud, I will," the smallest hobbit swore. His words twisted her heart to pieces, but Gwen nodded encouragingly. "That's what I like to hear," she said with a tiny smile. She leaned on the hobbits to stand before giving them a hand up. Over their heads she nodded to Aragorn in a silent signal. _Let's get the hell out of dodge._

"What should we do now, Aragorn?" She asked, identifying him clearly as their leader. He considered her a moment before shifting his body around, waving a hand towards the land. "We make for the golden wood of Lórien," he answered, waving his hand towards the dark green in the distance. "There, Valar willing, we can rest in safety."

She nodded resolutely, and he turned to lead them from the rocky hills.

* * *

The journey southeast was rather swift and unremarkable once they had past the west banks of the low-lying Celebrant River, and soon they could see the great mellyrn trees of the wood clearly in the distance. The sight was a balm on Gwen's shredded constitution – she wanted nothing more than a bath, a bed, and a hot meal – not necessarily in that order, and the Golden Wood represented, hopefully, all three for her. _I need a break from all things dark and evil, too._

She was eager to be back in the company of other people again, and curious about the mysterious elves of the woods. A faint trickle of hope remained that these elves might know of a way home for her, but this time it was also tinged with fear – fear that she would be able to leave, and would be forced to choose between her dedication to Frodo and the quest and her desire to go back to Earth. She hoped, too, that perhaps these elves had seen or heard of Jessie. Her feelings were a giant ball of anxiety inside her, one that Gwen couldn't summon the energy to analyze right now.

Aragorn slowed their progress to a brisk walk, and they were able to gather together closely as they entered the quiet wood. There was something very magical about the trees as they passed between them, as if they were not natural to the land. Just being surrounded by these trees brought a measure of peace to her mind. Gwen laid a hand on the trunk of one great tree, feeling the cool, mossy dampness beneath her fingers. She was surprised to find the bark warm rather than cool as she expected. Golden leaves twirled around them as they passed into the forest from the open lands. _Odd that the trees are not bare this time of year._

It was magic; she was sure of it.

Gwen walked between Merry and Pippin silently, and whenever anyone spoke, it was in a reverent whisper. Gimli was the only one that didn't seem muted by the forest's peaceful stillness. He gathered Sam and Pippin close to him, talking loudly and rather disrespectfully of the great witch of the forest, whom she assumed was an elf. "Stay close, young hobbits," Gimli cautioned. "You do not want the witch-queen to ensnare you with her magic." Gwen smiled slightly at the fanciful tale, at the ridiculousness of it, even as she disapproved of his intent. It was clear the dwarves learned hatred of elves was rearing it's head again. "All who see her fall under her spell and are never seen again," he warned.

She giggled quietly at the ridiculousness of his story, and the dwarf looked back at her with an insulted look, making her laugh completely. She waved a hand in apology, still giggling softly and derisively at him. "I'm sorry, Gimli," she said laughingly. Gwen attempted to grow somber, and straightened her features appropriately. "Who says that, exactly?" she questioned logically. "And how do they come to say such things, if they are never seen again?" Heartbeats passed as Gimli gaped at her. "Really, that's such an absurd thing to tell them," she said, motioning to the hobbits. Gimli shot her a confused, affronted look before he returned to his story.

He seemed to believe every word he spoke. "Well...here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily..."

Gwen tuned out the dwarf, smiling slightly when Legolas fell into step beside her wordlessly. She enjoyed the sight of the leaves falling through the tree, reflecting the sunlight prettily. She was forced to a stop with a gasp as she found a sharp arrow in her face. Gwen reached for Burningstar, but cold words stopped her movements altogether. "I wouldn't do that were I you," a blonde elf drawled arrogantly as he moved into her sight.

A group of elven archers had surrounded them completely, apparently appearing from thin air. Their leader stood tall and proud – and haughty – before them. Legolas was the only one of the Fellowship who had a weapon drawn against them, which Gwen acknowledged was probably due to his own elven reflexes, but he didn't know who to aim at, and was passing the notched arrow back and forth towards different targets. Seeing the futility of his actions, he lowered his bow after a moment altogether. The leader addressed Aragorn without acknowledging any of the others.

"What is your business in these woods?" The leader addressed them coldly. He looked uncompromising and stern. She was reminded strongly of Glorfindel's stoicism and mannerisms. _Elves seem to do that so well..._

As exhausted as she was mentally and physically, Gwen wasn't in the mood to deal with hard-assed elves right then. Before Aragorn could answer him, Gwen sighed, loudly, and cut in rudely. "Look, we've just come through some pretty hellish days underneath those mountains back there." She tossed a thumb over her shoulder in emphasis. "As much as I would love to watch you two go rounds over our being here, I really want to get off my feet and get a bite or two to eat."

She had no idea that she was using her eyes expressively as she spoke. "So can you _please_ get these arrows out of my friends' faces? It's not like we're able to do anything to you in this state anyway," she reasoned. "I mean, look at us." She waved a hand at their haggard forms. By the time Gwen closed her mouth, both the elf and Aragorn were looking at her, astonished. _Maybe he's not used to being spoken to like that, or maybe he's just surprised a woman is here – whatever._ She didn't really care at that moment about decorum.

"Gwendolyn, be quiet." Aragorn hissed at her lowly, before turning back to the elf leader with an apologetic gaze. "I am sorry for the girl's impudence, Marchwarden, but she is, in essence, correct. We seek safe haven from our enemies," he explained, shooting her a fierce look, warning her to stay silent. Gwen, for her part, was a little insulted. _The girl? Since when was she just the 'girl'?_

She bit her tongue, knowing her temper would only get her into more trouble right now. She could see the elf was listening to every word, and wanted to scream when his gaze slid to her, his face curiously devoid of emotion. The arrow in her face was inches away from her nose, and steadily drawing her ire. _There is no reason for this suspicious behavior – we're on the same side for Pete's sake!_

After a moment the hard-faced elf brought up a hand and the archers lowered their bows in response. Gwen sighed in relief. The elf took his time inspecting their company, sneering at Gimli in a way that made Gwen want to snarl at him, and lingering on her small form with something akin to a smirk. She _did_ snarl at him for that one, and his eyes twinkled past his hard-as-granite features. Gwen had no patience for any of it right then _. Either let us stay or make us go._

Gimli muttered under his breath, but his words weren't discernible. The elf turned away from them, seeming careless, but Gwen understood that they were always being watched. "Come," the elf ordered, clearly expecting to be obeyed. "You may rest in our flets while I decide what to do with you." He led them through the massive trees, and as the sun set behind them, up into them altogether. When at last they were allowed to sit, to rest, Gwen took great advantage. Under the watchful gaze of the wardens, Gwen laid down her belongings and sat protectively near Pippin, who looked scared to be so high up. Gwen, too, feared the height, especially after Moria, but she welcomed the chance to rest her weary body more than she feared falling. Aragorn passed by them, glancing darkly down at her as he moved.

"What?" Her question stopped him and he turned to look at her before answering tersely. "Your words might have cost us our chance to enter these woods, Gwendolyn," he sighed. _I love how I'm no longer Gwen or elen when he's angry with me, but Gwendolyn._

The wardens who watched them glanced between them curiously, and Legolas murmured, "Many of the elves here do no speak Westron." She glanced up at him before giving her attention back to Aragorn.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention," Gwen replied regretfully, feeling truly sorry for her hastiness. "But after all we've been through, we shouldn't have to beg at – at arrow-point for safe haven! Especially from our supposed allies," she said angrily. Aragorn looked frustrated and tired, his anger was bleeding away. He tossed his head, pacing over the leaf-shaped flooring of the flet he stood on.

He stopped, looking at her sternly. "That may be true, Gwen," he allowed, "But nonetheless, the Marchwarden may not let us pass these borders because of your hasty words." Gwen, beyond tired and over it completely, snapped, "I get it, alright! There's nothing I can do about it now." Her angry words rang through the leaves clearly. "I'm sorry!"

The Marchwarden interrupted them coolly, "If I do not allow your passage, _Aragorn in Dúnedain,_ it will be because you carry a great evil with you, not because of the girl. She is unimportant." Gwen wanted to scowl, but had a feeling he said that because he wanted a reaction from her. _Well too bad, buddy, because you're not getting one out of this girl._ Instead she ignored the arrogant male. The elf, whom Gwen presumed was the Marchwarden Aragorn spoke of, dropped down onto the flet from above them to stare at Frodo and Sam, who sat quietly together.

"And you do carry great evil with you," he affirmed, staring at the hobbits with those fathomless eyes all elves seemed to have. "Did you think we would allow such darkness into our woods, Ranger?" The elf's eyes slid over Aragorn haughtily.

Gwen swallowed nervously.

* * *

 _Please review._


	24. The Wardens of Lórien

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Three: The Wardens of Lórien**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Night was settling around them like a heavy blanket, and still they had not moved in well over half a dozen hours.

Aragorn and the tall Marchwarden had been arguing in rapid-fire Sindarin for the better part of an hour now, probably concerning just that fact. Their _de facto_ leader was well aware of the situation: the elves had no desire to allow them to pass into the Golden Wood with the evil ring Frodo carried, and the Fellowship had no choice but to do so. Their safety and well-being depended on it. And so they bickered. Gwen had long since given up trying to understand their words – their speech was too fast for her to follow, so she resigned herself to sitting docilely beside Gimli, who was growing ever moodier the longer they were in the trees.

Gwen knew he was uncomfortable in the high boughs of the woods, but she was grateful for the relative safety they provided. More than once the wardens had been forced into battle by the orcs pursuing them from Moria. As frayed as her emotions were, she still felt guilty about that, even if Gwen felt it was their duty to aid them. After all, wasn't Frodo's quest their quest as well? Gandalf had died for it, why should not others? Tumultuous thoughts turned round and round in her head, making it throb. She wanted nothing more than to lay her head on a stump somewhere and sleep a thousand years until all this craziness was done and she wouldn't be expected to be strong any longer.

The elves of the wood had not turned them away yet, and that was no small thing. And for the moment she, and the others, were safe. Gwen's gaze slid back to their arguing pair before slipping away again with a sigh. Impatience trickled into her mind again – how much longer would they be forced to wait? All of them were exhausted. To distract herself, Gwen began to recite a poem she once memorized for a school function under her breath.

"All my past life is mine no more, the flying hours are gone. Like transitory dreams given o'er. Whose images are kept in store...by memory alone."(1)

With a pang of sadness, she realized now the words had more meaning for her than ever before. Her memories of home were already fading – little things, like the way her mother used to do her hair for fancy occasions, or the intricacies of her father's model ships. Now, the same would begin to happen with her memories of Gandalf. In ten years, what would she remember about him? The timber of his voice, the wry strength of his hands? His wisdom and his courage? Her morose thoughts distracted her from the encroaching night. As the forest darkened ever more, nighttime creatures began to emerge, and with them came the familiar sounds of the flutters of birds, and the soft chirp of insects. They seemed strangely amplified in this wood, even with the deadening presence of the occasional orc.

She could see giant lightning bugs began to blink to and fro through the trees. The sight of them lifted her spirits a bit, and she pointed them out to a sulky Gimli, who grunted, unappeased by her small efforts of distraction. The beauty around them was lost on the dwarf, apparently. Gwen wasn't insulted.

He had taken offense from the beginning to the rapid Elvish spoken first between the Marchwarden and Legolas, then with Aragorn. He had had words with the elven leader – nasty words – if Aragorn's sharp rebuke of them was any indication. Gimli had spoken in his own tongue, a dialect she couldn't begin to understand, but since that moment he had been in a foul mood. No amount of interaction seemed to lift his spirits.

All around, the Fellowship waited in varying states of dishevelment and moodiness. Even a normally cheery Pippin was withdrawn and morose. It was obvious that the dark days spent in Moria had brought out the worst from all of them: impatience, harsh words, and emotions. So many emotions, none of them positive. Gwen gained a dark satisfaction from knowing she was not alone in her increasingly negative thoughts and actions. _Well of course I'm not the only one._

The difficulties she had faced in the last month had made her selfish and self-absorbed, it seemed. She shouldn't have had to remind herself of her companions mutual hardships – they faced the same difficulties she had. There was not a one of them who could say they had even a moment's comfort of home since leaving Rivendell. Yet her focus had been on herself.

 _Her_ fears. _Her_ weaknesses. _Her_ adjustment to Middle Earth. _Her_ loss of family. It had always been about her. Gwen felt deeply ashamed of her self-centeredness in that moment, knowing her parents would have been disappointed in her had they known. She was a giant knot of confusion and emotion – homesickness, sadness, anger, impatience. Fear. God, but her fear had all but paralyzed her in the mines. Surely she had slowed the entire company down enough. Perhaps...perhaps Gandalf's death lay on her shoulders. Irrational guilt filled her.

 _Gandalf gave up everything to save us from the balrog._ _Would it be worth it? Would they succeed now, without him? She didn't know._

Gwen trembled at the thought of failure, of what that would mean for all Middle Earth, and drew her knees up into her arms before laying her head upon them. What had she done in the mines, to help them? Knowing the road her thoughts had taken was not a good one, Gwen pushed them away with a shudder no one seemed to notice. She would simply have to do better. Gandalf would have wanted her to try, or so she liked to think. A gentle hand touched her back unexpectedly then, causing her to jump, and was followed by soft Sindarin words she couldn't make out. She raised her head to find one of the wardens crouched beside her, a kind and concerned look upon his long, perfectly formed face.

The blankness of her features must have told the elf she had not understood, and he repeated the question, more slowly, and this time Gwen understood. He was asking her what had upset her, and if she understood him. Gimli, seeing Gwen's tense distress, and not understanding the elf's purpose near her, pulled Gwen against him protectively, enveloping her in a cloud of spicy smoke from his burning pipe. "Stay away from her," he growled at the warden, who looked startled and confused at the sudden hostility from the dwarf. She smiled slightly at her friend, and assured him the elf was not bothering her. She pulled away from Gimli and met the warden's gray-blue eyes somberly, nodded, and replied to his question in halting Sindarin.

 _My friends and I have suffered a great loss, and I mourn, and worry for our future._ She didn't add that she worried for her own future as well. The ellon's gaze turned compassionate, and he nodded his understanding before saying something in his language rapidly, placing a hand on his chest with a slight bow. Gwen could not follow, and she shook her head, trying to show her confusion on her face.

Gimli made a sound of disgust low in his throat at their efforts to communicate.

"Why do you try so hard to speak the tongue of the elves, girl?" he ground out lowly. "It is a frivolous language, and not at all pleasant to hear to my ears," he grumbled in ill temper. His words irritated her, and Gwen chided him gently as she watched the leaves fall gently in the soft glow of the lanterns above them, "The Sindarin language is beautiful to my ears, Gimli," she said quietly, "And I wanted to learn something productive." Her words were softly spoken, whispers really. Her eyes drifted back to meet his with a small smile. "I'd like to learn your language one day, too, if I can."

The warden looked between them curiously, obviously not understanding Westron in the slightest, and she smiled slightly at him, though it didn't reach her eyes. "They are not our enemies, no more than you are theirs, truly." Gwen looked at her dwarven friend, and Gwen could see he wasn't really listening. Still, she continued. "Gandalf didn't die so you could live to disrespect all he worked for in this world – the peace he hoped for." Dwarves and elves were not enemies, yet they acted like they were so often.

There was no anger in her voice, only solemn truth, and Gimli inhaled deeply, causing smoke from his pipe to go into his lungs. With a cough, he glared at her heatedly from where he sat. "Disrespect?" he said lowly. "Pah. If you knew the things I did, girl, you would not be so quick to talk of respect to me."

Gwen turned to look at the warden, who waited patiently at her side for her attention. She wanted to talk more with Gimli, but he had turned from her. Softly, she sighed. To the elf, she apologized and thanked him for his concern. Those few phrases slid easily from her tongue, and the warden smiled warmly at her attempts to speak with him. Before he could reply, the Marchwarden returned to their flet with Aragorn beside him, and the warden at her side stood swiftly, attention fully on his leader. Everyone's eyes sought out the tall elf, wondering what judgment he would pass upon them. Would they be forced to leave?

The elf addressed them collectively.

"You will come with me now."

* * *

And so they went. The elves, heedless of the darkened night sky, lead them from the tall boughs of the trees. They were to be led to the Golden City of the elves in the woods. Gwen didn't catch the name, as the elf in charge was speaking too quickly to be understood easily. More likely it was only that she was tired and not listening, but it didn't matter much. When they reached the forest floor once more, the Marchwarden insisted that Gimli be blindfolded, much to the horror of the rest of the company.

The suggestion very nearly caused a fight amongst them.

"We cannot allow the way to our city be known by outsiders," the silver-haired elf explained calmly over the low growls and snapping words Gimli bit out as he spoke. The ellon's voice was cool and even, broking no argument, but Gwen could see he truly felt his suggestion to be logical and correct. By outsiders, of course, he meant only dwarves and no one else. The meaning was clear, and the entire Fellowship protested this, especially Gwen. The injustice – no, the insult – of the suggestion was galling, especially after her defense of the elves to the proud dwarf.

She was shamed on their behalf. When it looked as if Aragorn was ready to give in just to ensure their passage into the wood, Gwen stepped forward, shouldering past Boromir's large shield and form to be seen. She had always been taught to stand up for her beliefs, and Gwen had no desire to spit on her parent's hard work now, when it would be easier to be silent. The memory of her all-encompassing fears in Moria, her selfish cowardice, moved her forward. She had failed her friends then, but she wouldn't now, especially if it meant merely speaking up.

"You should be ashamed of yourself." Her Sindarin was halting and broken, and she could barely form the words she wanted under the rising tide of her righteous anger and indignation. The wardens seemed shocked that she spoke their language, even as poorly as she did, except for the one who spoke to her earlier. She moved swiftly from her place in front of Boromir and snatched the cloth that would serve as a bind for Gimli's eyes from the Marchwarden's hands, fairly spitting Elvish words at him. She crushed the soft material in her hands.

"He is no more your enemy than I am," she snarled angrily. "If you would force this...this..." She waved the smooth cloth that would serve to blind in her hands, but couldn't find the word in Sindarin, and turned to Legolas desperately.

"Tell them that if they would force this injustice on Gimli, they force it on me as well." Legolas' eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly repeated her words to their audience. The shocked faces of the wardens around them disappeared as she brought the cloth to her eyes without hesitation, and after several long moments, she felt Legolas' hands at her nape, tying a knot deftly. She heard Gimli protesting, sputtering shocked words, to her left, and shushed him with a movement with her hand.

"I meant what I said earlier Gimli," she spoke in his direction, now blindly. " _We_ ," she motioned all around herself, "are not enemies. There is too much mistrust between us all, and it has to stop. Or he will win." They all knew who she meant. _Sauron._

The dwarf fell silent, but she felt hands upon her, ones that she thought must have been Boromir's. Her harsh words seemed to have stunned the entire company into silence, and for long moments only the sounds of the forest encroached upon them. To her surprise, Legolas requested to be blindfolded as well – much to the increasing horror of the wardens. Gwen could practically hear their shock. _Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of the Elves, blindfolded by his own kinfolk? Unheard of._

Then, it seemed, the whole Fellowship followed her and Legolas' example. Aragorn followed suite, as did Boromir, and the hobbits as well. Until at last, only Gimli's eyes had not been covered. He finally allowed the elves to bind his sight, though Gwen felt his instinctive hesitation and anger. "Keep together, now," the Marchwarden said, less haughty than before. "We will bind you together so that you do not become lost," he said. She bit back a smart ass retort, knowing she had said enough already. Rope was tied around their waists, one after another.

As they began to walk, Gwen sensed a figure fall into step beside her. Elvish words flowed over her in a low, pleasing timber, and she realized it was the same elf from before, introducing himself. Gwen replayed the words in her mind, trying to understand them completely. _Rumíl_. _His name is Rumíl._

She introduced herself to him, though it was awkward to do without being able to see him, irritating her further about this whole charade. For a while they talked together, but Gwen found she had no way of asking for clarification on words she didn't know, as her companion didn't speak Westron. Rumíl seemed to enjoy speaking with her regardless, and never became impatient with her ignorance of his language.

They walked together in this manner for many hours. She blushed when he told her he thought she had a brave heart to stand up to his brother as she had. This information surprised her, and it must have shown in her features. Rumíl said something more but she didn't recognize the words, and shook her head to signal this. Gwen wished for the thousandth time that she didn't have a blindfold impeding her ability to communicate.

Another elvish voice broke into their conversation and spoke to Rumíl lowly. He answered too quickly for Gwen to understand what he said. She tripped on a root in that moment, and would have gone down hard had it not been for Rumíl beside her. Gasping, she right herself quickly, leaning on his lean strength, and moved away from his gentle touch as soon as she was steady.

"You have quick reflexes for a human woman," came a new voice, this time in surprising Westron. The Marchwarden meant it as a compliment, surely, but it sounded sexist to her, and she scowled in lieu of a response. Rumíl said something in rapid fire Sindarin, and with a bite of impatience she asked for him to slow down. The Marchwarden did not give him the chance to reply, and instead translated for him.

"My brother says that you are not like any creature he has seen before." There was a note of something akin to humor in his voice. Gwen blushed automatically, not sure how to take this information. The deep voice of the Marchwarden flowed around her as they walked, and her heightened senses picked up many layer to his words. "Many of the elves here have never seen a human – or for that matter, a dwarf." It was laced with something regretful. An apology, perhaps?

Gwen stayed silent, remembering Aragorn's words. _I don't want them to turn us back now because of something stupid I said._ So they walked through the golden wood, and though she could not see the leaves as they fell, nor the highest flets of the trees, but she could hear the birds and the crickets, and feel the breeze. The walk wasn't so bad but it really was damned insulting to have to make it blindfolded, given that this was supposedly 'friendly territory.'

Eventually, Rumíl stopped her progress with a single gentle hand to her forearm. Then, she felt hands on her nape, untying the strip of cloth binding her eyes. It fell to her feet, but she didn't move to pick it up. Directly ahead lay the most beautiful city Gwen had ever seen. It gleamed golden, like one giant beacon in the middle of the forest. Massive trees supported the entire structure of houses and other buildings, and the glow of laps between the leaves created an ethereal effect everywhere she looked.

Definitely not a human city. Her breath caught at the sight it presented, all resentment at having been blindfolded gone. _It is beautiful._

"Welcome to Caras Galadhon," The Marchwarden declared proudly. Gwen noted the peaceful happiness that showed clearly on his face. It was obvious that he felt great fondness for his city, and very happy to be home. Gwen imagined what it would be like to see home again, and the vision in her mind made her want to weep and laugh at the same time. To distract herself from her punishing thoughts, she turned to help untie Boromir.

The others were freed in short order, and gaped at the sight as she did, even Gimli. It seemed even dwarves were not immune to the beauty of the elven realm. "This home of my Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn," Rumíl explained with an open smile. He turned away from her with a gesture of one wide palm. "Come, they will want to see you," he said in careful Sindarin. He and the other wardens led them down the narrow, well-worn path towards the city. Flowers blanketed the forest floor on either side of the road, in colors she could not begin to put a name to. The trees grew to even more epic proportions – there was one to Gwen's right that could have fit her parent's home inside it with room to spare. Soon they were ascending the massive trees, going much higher than they had been on the forest's edge.

Never in her life had Gwen seen such trees – not even the great redwoods of California could compare to these. The sense of something magical in the air within this city was far greater than at the edge of the woods. Whether it was the trees themselves or the work of the elves, Gwen was unsure. She allowed the beauty around her to ease her temper and emotions.

They were watched with open curiosity by the elves, and in some cases even open hostility. There was not an elf yet who seemed to welcome them, and their animosity seemed to center on Gimli. Gwen was fast growing to dislike these elves for their treatment of her dwarf companion, though she understood the prejudice ran deep on both sides. Her view would always be biased – Gimli had fought beside her, and protected her. It might have been uncharitable to the extreme, but she couldn't help but think the disrespect that was being shown toward her friend was disrespectful to their entire company.

 _It's not like Gimli or his people are helping Sauron – why are they treated as if they are? There are so many bigger fish to fry._ Gwen admitted to herself that there was very little she knew or understood about dwarf/elf relations. Still, the snotty looks his hairy presence was generating were insulting to her.

 _And just how much would_ _they_ _have given up to destroy this Ring?_

Despite her uncharitable thoughts, Gwen was hoping this meeting with the King and Queen went well, and that she and the others would be allowed to rest in Lórien for a time. She didn't think Frodo would make it if they couldn't. Hell, Gwen didn't think _she_ would make it.

The Marchwarden stopped them on a very high perch spilling over with foliage and bright light, and bid them to wait for him to speak with his leaders. He disappeared, leaving the Fellowship to murmur amongst themselves; they had long since been left by the other wardens, who had disappeared as the company had ascended into the tree. With the Marchwarden gone, they were alone for the first time they had stepped foot in the woods.

Gwen looked out over the glowing elven city, and couldn't help but think that this haven surpassed even Rivendell in beauty – though that stronghold seemed more real and tangible to her than this magical place. There was an otherworldly beauty to the trees, and the sights enraptured her. She could see Legolas and the hobbits felt the same – they gaped with awe at the amazing feats the elves had accomplished with their tree houses. They definitely weren't the average wooden structure, for sure.

The Marchwarden descended from the higher levels a short time later, and announced that the Lord and Lady would see them. Gwen turned from the golden beauty of the city at his words and found herself faced an equally beautiful couple. Golden hair shimmered from the top of the woman's head down to her ankles, while silver gleamed at the King's temples. And Lord, they were tall. Gwen would not reach the woman's breasts if she stood beside her directly.

Gwen was thunderstruck at their appearance, and jumped about a foot in the air when Gimli dropped his axe unexpectedly, making a terrible racket. "Gimli," she hissed lowly in embarrassment when every pair of eyes in the place swung to them. The dwarf had gone as red as her mother's prized tomatoes, and Gwen wondered what on Middle Earth was wrong with the normally stoic dwarf. The golden-haired Amazon who must have been Lady Galadriel ignored the clatter of the metal on the floor of the flet and opened her arms with a gentle, motherly smile.

"Welcome, warriors. All of Caras Galadhon greets you warmly," she said with a warm expression.

 _Biggest lie ever spoken._ But at this point, Gwen would take it happily.

* * *

 _Please review._


	25. A Mourning Song

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Please continue to share your thoughts with me! I appreciate all the favorites and follows!_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Four: A Mourning Song**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Standing in the presence of these two elves was like nothing else she had ever experienced.

For a moment Gwen stood awkwardly in front of the radiant Lord and his Lady, not knowing if a reply to the Lady's words was warranted or not. She was certainly not in the proper frame of mind for polite chit chat, and would rather stay quiet for the moment.

Each member of the Fellowship kept his eyes averted in respect, even Gimli, but Gwen chanced a look and noticed the pair of elves studying her companions keenly, with apparent interest. They could not have been more obvious about it, either. Galadriel's eyes went from person to person, looking at each of them as they stood before her. Aragorn, after a moment spent slack-jawed and silent, regained his bearings and bowed smoothly, thanking them for allowing their passage through the Golden Wood.

Gwen nearly snorted out loud, knowing these elves had not received them with much happiness or joy, but she wisely kept silent, though her thoughts were most ungracious. _I wouldn't call our treatment at all charitable,_ _she thought bitterly. I_ _f anything, those wardens treated us like enemies!_

She studied the Lord and Lady with a spot of derision, acknowledging their physical presence and beauty even so. Gwen could see why the elves guarded this place so rabidly, even at the expense of their allies, but that allowance of understanding was grudging at best.

 _I apologize for my wardens' behavior, young one._ A feminine voice, as clear as a bell, echoed through Gwen's thoughts, startling her greatly. _But,_ _the voice in her head echoed,_ _these are dark times, and certain distasteful precautions are necessary._ That pure voice filled her mind – _from within_ – nearly making Gwen come out of her skin with distress, and she forgot her polite decorum and stared straight into the Lady's face in stunned revelation. These elves seemed suddenly, without a doubt, more magical than she had ever noticed before. How was it possible that this elf could do such a thing as invade a person's mind? Suddenly her ethereal beauty made more sense. Obviously, there was something magical about her, more so than other elves.

Gwen was appalled and skeptical. What powers had Glorfindel and Lord Elrond possessed of this magical nature? The girl from Earth reeled at the implications.

 _Where I come from, it is considered impolite to invade a person's thoughts,_ _she said internally at last, feeling foolish and off-kilter. Her words were_ stated derisively, and the Lady's tinkling laugh filled her head, making it difficult to follow what the Lord was saying out loud to them all. _Yes, this may be true,_ _the Lady replied,_ _but you are no longer in your world, are you, lost one? I know what it is you seek to find here._ _The words trailed away, striking_ Gwen like a blow to the face, and pain blossomed within her chest; the Lady was right, she wasn't in her world anymore – and the painful reminder of her loss couldn't have come at a worse time, as she was struggling with other strong losses. The desire for home was strong in her, still. It shouldn't have shocked or surprised her to still feel so strongly. That the elven Lady could read her so clearly was disturbing. Resolutely she decided not to speak again, reasoning that it was beyond odd to have a conversation in one's head anyway.

The Lord was speaking, his voice as light and clear as his Lady's, but much deeper. His face was as smooth as glass and twice as unreadable. "What hope you had in arriving here in secret is now at an end," he intoned in an emotionless tenor. "The enemy knows you have entered here." He studied their weary faces, his eyes solemn and revealing nothing to them. "Rivendell sent forth ten friends to journey to these lands, and yet there are but nine." Gwen's heart sank, knowing what he was getting at. She remembered the moment Gandalf fell to the balrog. _Oh Gandalf..._

Tears welled, more demanding and persistent than before, within the haze of chaos in fleeing Moria. God, but she wanted to be alone so badly and have a good, healing cry. There was no shame in that. But it was not time for that yet, and resolutely Gwen withheld her emotions, though it wasn't easy.

Aragorn sighed softly and met the gaze of the Lady. Gwen wondered if she was speaking to the Ranger in his mind, too. Celeborn continued to speak, seemingly oblivious to the side conversations that were occurring. "Tell me...where is Gandalf?" He asked solemnly, as if he expected the wizard to merely appear in answer.

His eyes moved from one companion to the next, clearly seeking information. Gwen nearly shuddered under the probing power of his gaze. "I much desire to speak with him," the elf Lord explained, though without any inflection created by emotion. Gwen, like the rest of the Fellowship, could not speak the words; speaking them would make the reality too real for her.

Galadriel answered for them, whispering, "Gandalf did not pass the borders of this realm." Her voice trembled with emotion that surprised Gwen. Beside Gwen, Gimli's shoulders trembled slightly, and she grasped his large palm in her small hand, giving him what comfort she could in a small and silent way.

"He has fallen into shadow," Aragorn confirmed, grinding out the words past a tense jaw. Lady Galadriel seemed not to need his confirmation, however, and looked very sad at the explanation. Lord Celeborn seemed shocked to hear it, showing for the first time a modicum of care from his stern features. _He was a Maiar, after all,_ _Gwen recalled_ _. Such beings must have been nearly indestructible to the elves._ _How often did a Maiar die?_

Legolas nodded, the gesture weak and saddened. "He was taken by shadow and flame." Even his voice wavered ever slightly, and Gwen new he struggled to maintain his composure. "A balrog of Morgoth, which we encountered needlessly." Lady Galadriel drew in a breath, this bit of information apparently surprising to them. Celeborn's eyes betrayed his inner sorrow.

Gimli hung his head, clearly upset by the elf's words. Gwen understood the guilt he felt, because she felt it too. There were so many things that could have been done differently to avoid the old man's death. Galadriel watched her a moment, thoughtful. She replied after a moment, "Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in this great life." The Lady seemed to chide Legolas. Then, her eyes fell on Gimli, and her features softened. "Do not let the emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin."

In that moment, Gwen knew Lady Galadriel was as wise as she was beautiful, and that no words could have been more comforting for Gimli, who looked upon the Lady with wonder in his eyes, that dispelled all shadow. Gwen was thankful that the Lady could see past whatever prejudices existed between dwarves and elves to comfort the broken warrior, and her estimation of the Lady rose.

The elf woman turned piercing eyes to Boromir next, who seemed to shudder and grow uncomfortable.

"The world has grown full of peril," the Lady murmured. To Gwen's horror, the Gondorian began to weep, and the sound of it wrenched at Gwen's heartstrings, knowing the elf woman must have been speaking to Boromir somehow, and had touched something within him. _What was she telling him?_

Celeborn turned his attention to Aragorn. "What now becomes of this Fellowship?" he demanded. "For without Gandalf, all hope is lost." His words seemed to ripple around the company, and as they registered in her mind, Gwen drew herself up, highly affronted. _Now wait just a damn minute! That's not true at all!_

"I beg your pardon?" The words slipped past Gwen's lips before she could catch them, and maybe she didn't want to. Recklessness seemed to be her middle name when it came to the elves of these woods. "Your words are _dangerous,_ my lord _,"_ she insisted sternly, though not impolitely. "There is _always hope,_ " she declared. Gwen hoped the others were listening to her like they were listening to the Lady. "This Fellowship still has nine others willing and able to continue this journey quite well, I think. We just need a little rest! _Hope is lost,_ " she snorted, growing quiet. Gwen muttered the last words to herself, and the others were looking at her quite mortified. She was wholly out of patience. _I've about had it with these particular elves._

She was tired, hungry, and dirty as hell, and these elves had done nothing but insult their company and treat them like enemies. Frodo was nearly asleep on his feet, and the hobbits were looking as miserable as she felt. They could truly kiss her ass. Lady Galadriel seemed faintly amused, and she watched Gwen closely, passing a look to her husband. "You speak the truth, Gwendolyn Carrick, though your words are harsh. There is hope, but it is fading," she warned. "I have seen it."

Again amusement flickered on the lady's face. "Yet, while the company is as true as you are to one another, all is not lost." She gazed down at the hobbits, who had tears streaking their skin. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she bid them gently. "Go now, and rest. Tonight you will sleep in peace."

 _Thank a merciful God, finally._

They turned and were led by waiting Wardens away from the high flets, to the forest floor, and soon to a grove among the trees. Pallets stuffed with goose down were laid around the space, and Gwen could see a low table piled with food at the edge of the area. It seemed the elves had prepared ahead of time.

Relief filled her at the sight of relaxation and rest incarnate, and Gwen immediately laid her belongings by a pallet between Legolas' and Boromir's. For the first time in a very long day, she allowed herself to relax. Her exhaustion and a multitude of emotions quickly overtook her. _Guilt. Sadness. Anger. Pain._ Wishing only to lay her head down a moment, Gwen laid upon the pallet, not anticipating the extreme weariness that crashed over her like a wave on her senses. She was out cold in minutes, the quiet whispers of her friends around her, peaceful and soothing.

* * *

Singing woke her.

She couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or so, because the others were still awake, despite the dark of night growing around them. Legolas stood nearby, having already cleaned himself, as she saw by his new tunic and breeches. Gwen sat up from her pallet and stretched, drawing the elf's attention. Her short nap had invigorated her like she hadn't thought possible after the long day they had had. A heaviness remained in her chest, however, that she didn't want to think about, or even acknowledge.

The haunting melody on the air riveted her attention, and after a few heartbreaking moments, brought silent tears streaming from her eyes. It was a song of the elves – in Sindarin – and she couldn't make out the words easily. She looked to Legolas, who was obviously trying hard not to listen. His hair lay loose and dry over his shoulders. His eyes glowed with unspoken emotion, and Gwen could see where he very nearly radiated pain. "Legolas?" The elf looked at her, having heard her whispered call. His elven hearing was unrivaled. She patted the spot next to her on the pallet.

"Come and sit," she bid him gently. "I will braid your hair, _mellon_." Legolas hesitated, obviously uncomfortable in his emotional state. Gwen hoped he would not push her away. _This is hard for all of us._ She lifted a hand toward him, calling him to her side silently. "Let me do this for you, as you have always done for me." It was true that Legolas had helped her manage her own thick, ever-lengthening hair while they had traveled over the hills of Eregion and through the passes of Caradhras.

It had been a soothing exercise for her, and he never seemed to mind it either. Finally, he glided to her, grasping her hand securely and allowing her to pull him down beside her. _He is fragile tonight,_ she realized with a jolt when his hand gripped hers longer than was usual. It was so foreign to her that Legolas – the strong one – would be anything less. _God, we all are, though. We've lost our leader. Our friend._

 _It was difficult to accept, much less move on from._

The pair of them just looked at one another for a moment in silent togetherness of emotion and understanding. "It seems I was more tired than I thought," she murmured with a half smile. "I didn't even wait to help the others with their things.." Gwen felt a moment's guilt, knowing that the task had fallen to Boromir and Aragorn, but Legolas squeezed her hand. It looked utterly filthy in his clean, pale grasp, but he didn't seem to mind. "They understood." He spoke in his native tongue, lowly.

Tears welled in her eyes, and more haunting notes of the elvish song filtered through the pale trees around the grove.

"Where are the others?" Gwen asked softly, breaking the sound of the melody in her mind. Legolas looked away from her then, gazing up into the great trees around them. "Washing, probably," he replied. "Aragorn was summoned to meet with Lord Celeborn a short while ago."

They fell into silence, listening to the song the elves were singing. It tugged so fiercely on her that Gwen found herself fighting rising tears. The song around them reached a haunting pitch, and those tears fell from Gwen's eyes in response. What made their words so powerful? Legolas watched her, his own gaze filled with sadness. Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice.

"It speaks to the very heart of me," she murmured, wiping the tear tracks from her face. Gwen didn't have to recognize the words to know they sung of Gandalf. Legolas' arms crept silently around her, and they embraced in mutual comfort. Wetness dripped into her scalp as Legolas wept with her, and they clung together, as if they would be blown away by a violent storm if they did not. "I don't even know what they are saying," she said. "But it hurts to hear it."

She inhaled the woodsy, slightly sweet scent of Legolas' long blond hair, comforted by his wry strength and quiet nature. "You need not know the words, _elen_ , for you knew him," the elf murmured lowly. Truth rang in his clear, harmonious tenor. "We knew him. This song of mourning is only a shadow of that knowledge." Gwen knew it was true. Together they sat, purpose forgotten as they shared in their grief.

After the song ended and silence descended, they broke apart; each was slightly, embarrassed at their show of emotion. Their hands remained clasped, and Gwen stared at them, fingers twined together, for a long time. "I didn't ever think I would come to grieve for anything other than my old life," she said softly, her thoughts now miles away. Legolas heard every word clearly, and was silently considering as she continued. "That I would want anything more than to go home, and be able to touch my parents as I am with you now." She rubbed her thumb over his hand unthinkingly. They both shuddered at the jolt of emotion her touch created. It was an intimacy, this friendship of theirs.

"But if I had a wish to give now," Gwen sighed. "I would wish for Gandalf to be back..for Frodo, at the very least." Tears welled again in her eyes and green met gray as she raised her head to meet his eyes. "I would wish for Gandalf to be alive again." She couldn't help but be horrified in realizing how her heart's desires had changed in just a few months, and it showed in her distressed eyes. "What kind of person willingly gives up an entire life for another?" It confounded her. Gandalf's death and this quest in the face of death had changed everything.

Legolas embraced Gwen again, bringing her head against his chest in comfort.

"I forget, sometimes, that you are so very young, for all your great travels and old ways." He said, pausing with a sigh. "There is no betrayal in your thoughts, _elen_." His words pierced to the heart of her emotional turmoil. Gwen truly did feel like she was betraying her family, in willingly setting aside her personal quest to get home for helping Frodo, even to her own death, like Gandalf had done.

"I have learned that it does not take a lifetime to change – though for elves it surely seems that way," Legolas continued. You have changed in your time on this earth, and you will continue to change. That is the blessing of the Valar – that life should be at times as varied and different as they are."

Gwen shuddered and more tears fell, as silently as her thoughts were racing. He shouldered her up, and lifted her chin to his eyes, and for a moment Gwen was reminded that Legolas was as ancient as any other elf, and as wise. He pointed into the sky, at a patch of inky darkness visible – amazingly – through the branches of the mellyrn around them.

"Look at that star, _elen_. It shines so brightly," he said, his voice as clear as Lady Galadriel's. She could see the pinprick of light in the sky, dim but unceasing. "It is beautiful," she whispered. He nodded. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "It is Eärendil. No matter how a person travels, heedless of his destination, never can the light of that star fade from his face. Such is our love for those we call family," he explained. "Whenever I am thinking of my mother, and saddened that she is no longer here, I look to that star as a reminder that she is never gone from my life."

She looked, first at the night sky, and then at her friend, beginning to understand his point. He said with a smile, "The path of your destiny has brought you to this place, with our company, yet your Earth world lives on in your heart." She nodded, wiping the tears from her face as they dried again in tracks. "It cannot be easy," he murmured gently, "but in life such things rarely are." They were startled by the return of the hobbits and Gimli, but there still no sign of Boromir or Aragorn. Quickly, Legolas bent to her ear, not wanting the others to hear him.

"Never will the light and love of your previous life leave your face, _elen_ and never will the memories of that time leave you fully," Legolas promised. "Do not let your sadness weigh your heart forever."

He pulled back, and their sad eyes met once more. "Gandalf would have put it in such a way, I believe," he smiled slightly, squeezing her hand once more before releasing her. They stood up together, ignoring the others in the grove who watched them with interest. The tall elf pressed a hand to her face, willing her to feel his own emotion. "Feel no shame, Gwendolyn Carrick – _elen,"_ _he murmured down to her. "_ You are not alone in your grief, or on this road you now walk."

Gwen nodded slightly, and winced when she saw the dirt and tear stains on his clean clothing. Legolas followed her eyes, smiling slightly at her ruefully apologetic gaze. "Time for another bath, yes?" Gwen's chest expanded with a laugh.

"I suppose so, yes."

* * *

 _Please review._


	26. Boromir Sees

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Five: Boromir Sees**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _February 3rd,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

The days Gwen spent in Lórien were as peaceful as those the Fellowship had spent in Rivendell getting to know one another so many months ago. Though each companion kept their continuing journey in mind, in the moment it was easy to forget that they were on a quest to ensure the survival of the entire continent – hobbits, elves, dwarves, and men alike. The beauty and magical nature of the wood helped foster their forgetfulness quite a bit, and many days Gwen could be found walking among the trees, lost in thought and soaking up the quiet peace to be found there.

She continued to mourn for Gandalf, but the strong emotion his passing had illicited her first day in the Golden Wood had mostly passed; Gwen knew that he would want her to continue on in service to Frodo and the others as best she could and not waste time grieving for him. She still struggled with sadness and distress at the finality of death – they all did, but the moments with Legolas in the grove had served to center her emotions and channel them into productive tasks. _I've got to keep up my strength, keep practicing with the sword and bow, and get my sleep. We won't be in Lórien forever, after all._

She did her best to think practically, but a shadow had been growing in her mind since before Moria, born of fear and the unknown, and Gwen knew eventually she would have to face it. Boromir and Aragorn had returned to the familiar routine of practice duels with Gwen, only this time the hobbits were included as well. Even Frodo seemed energized enough at times to participate, though those moments were rare.

Lord Celeborn learned of her love of books and had taken the time to show her his library, and invited her to pick books to read to help pass the time. Gwen had delightedly taken him up on his offer, and was surprised to see books written even in Westron occupy space on his shelves. She had taken three for herself: a fictional narrative about an elven warrior in the Second Age, a history of the elves of Eregion, and a book on common healing practices and remedies.

In the early morning the others would wake to find her reading.

Legolas had been practicing Sindarin with her again, a task she greatly enjoyed but found frustrating. Gwen was beginning to be able to read simple passages from the Sindarin book on healing plants Lord Celeborn had given her after expressing interest in the healing arts, which pleased the woodland elf greatly.

Apparently all elves had an affinity for nurturing life – down to the tiniest plant seedling – and it was clear Legolas approved of her learning the healing arts. It would also be a useful skill for the Fellowship. Now that he knew of her interest, he had taken to having her read the books on healing to him aloud. She had been the butt of many a playful joke for her extended pronunciation of words and slow reading, but she was carefully making progress.

In addition to practicing with the bow, Legolas had suggested that she begin to learn to wield daggers as well, so they had spent afternoons working up a sweat – or rather, Gwen working up a sweat – dodging and thrusting the wicked sharp blades that moved so much me rapidly than her more unwieldy Burningstar. The Warden Rumíl had taken to joining them of late as well, to give her perspective on differing fighting styles. Between the two elven warriors, Gwen gained some skill with the wicked fast weapons, but she was still clumsy and greatly preferred the archery ranges to the training rings.

Gwen had impressed the wardens who had seen her fight with her sword, though. Rumíl had been amazed by Burningstar's power, claiming that it was a most beautiful blade, and that he hadn't seen anything like it in his life. Gwen thought he was merely sweet talking her, since he seemed to enjoy flirting with her more than anything else, but Legolas assured her that, indeed, Burningstar was a sight to behold in the heat of battle.

"You become the wielder of streams of light," Legolas had described. "In your very hands, _elen._ It is a true wonder to behold. Lord Glorfindel honored you greatly by his gift." His eyes had twinkled at her as he said it, and though Gwen could not be sure, she suspected he was needling her. "Indeed," Rumíl added, drawling the word teasingly.

Even now, days later, she still blushed as she thought of Legolas' and Rumíl's words. She hadn't had time enough to breath, let alone think of the handsome elf who had made her a sword, but his memory made her warm, and yet sadder still. _This quest has taken a lot,_ _she ruminated rather bitterly one night as she walked the wood. F_ _irst Glorfindel, now Gandalf. How much more can it take from us? From me? Will I be alone again by the end of it all?_ But those emotionally charged, ridiculous thoughts were pointless, she knew. It was better, still, to live in the moment and not think of the consequences of each choice yet.

Gwen walked the path to a secluded washing pool lost in darker thoughts, her feet treading the well-worn ground unaware of things around her. She grasped her pack in one hand loosely. Often of late her thoughts had turned dark and moody in such quiet moments, and Gandalf's death had done little to assuage her of them. She had given thought of her own demise, and at wondering how it had not yet come. If someone so powerful as Gandalf could fall – surely she would as well. Surely she should have died by now.

This was why Gwen trained so hard, indeed, worked so hard to be better. She understood keenly her weaknesses, all too well. Every moment had to be spent learning, or to her it was wasted. For now, though, she would settle for a personal pleasure: a long bath. Of all her pleasures, the greatest and most guilty one she harbored was the love of a good, hot bath. _Me time, alone._ _She inhaled the sweetly steaming air, then sighed deeply, knowing shew as close to the pools._

When Gwen reached the bathing pools, she checked to make sure she was alone before stripping and stepping into the hot water. _The others will be at supper right now._ She had been very careful to ensure that no one ever saw her brutal scars, so that there would be no questions about her past encounter with a morgul-blade. Too often on Earth she had been granted automatic looks of compassion and pity she never felt she deserved from complete strangers. _She_ had been the lucky one – the only survivor of a serial killer – or so she had thought.

The dark bent of her thoughts turned to an often-remembered loss: that of home. The Witch King was responsible for that, and had been all along – and somehow, her survival, which was never supposed to have happened, had drawn her to this land in the aftermath of his return. Because of his evil, she had been pulled along like some tugboat on the open sea and left to drift.

Only Aragorn knew fully the story behind her arrival to Middle Earth and only he fully understood what that could mean for her. That she was trapped here, for goodness knew how long. It wasn't fair, and it made her angry and sad every time she thought of it. Gwen struggled to let go of that bitter line of thinking, but she was only human. Gwen sank into the hot water with a long groan of relief. Her shoulder ached fiercely where Rumíl had driven it into the ground during one of their duels today. _Damnable elf_ , she thought, half smiling. She rubbed at the muscle there gently before taking a sealed flask of oil from her bag nearby. _I'll have to rub some liniment into it after my bath._

She poured the sweet honeysuckle oil into her palm, the fragrance blooming up and around her as she rubbed it into her scalp and into her tresses. Her hair fell nearly to the curve of her waist now; she had wondered more than once if the oil had accelerated its growth and health, but every time she dismissed this as wishful thinking. It certainly was possible, at least. Oil warmed by her hands dripped off the tendrils of her hair onto her back and into the water, leaving a shiny film on the surface all around her.

The curtain of her hair, wet, was a heavy weight on her scalp, and she groaned at the strained tug on her roots. _One downside to long hair is it weighs a ton._ Gwen sank back into the water with a sigh of relief as the water took the weight off of her scalp. The strands were thick and strong, even in the water. The heat from the pool was flushing her skin, and if she looked, Gwen could see her scars pinking to angry scarlet and at places, violet. She tried not to notice, but the familiar pang and painful tug within her could not be pushed away.

When the painful blast along her nerves passed away and faded into numbness, though, she was left only with the bliss of the heat around her. Gwen floated on the water, listening as the elvish singers took up their nightly lament to Gandalf. They had been singing it once a day since their arrival and as always, the haunting notes tore at her heart until she wanted to scream at the singers to stop hurting her. Instead, Gwen concentrated on lathering her body with the honey and mint soap that reminded her so much of her friend Dothiel. Another pang of sadness hit her as she thought of the elleth. _I wonder how she's doing. Or if she's decided to go to Aman with her kin._

She had been, Gwen recalled, pondering the notion. Whatever choice the elf woman had made, she hoped it made her happy. It seemed a little more rare in a place like Middle Earth. Gwen washed her body slowly, tracing the peaks and hollows of her curves. She had always been a curvaceous girl, but the last few months had developed her into a firmly muscled woman. She washed her arms, marveling at the tightness that lay under her fingers. Her shoulders and back were – injury notwithstanding – toned and her posture was much better from much archery practice. She stood straight and proud in the water, even if she was very short.

Her breasts were soft and fell heavily from her chest, but she washed them quickly, not wanting to feel the faint lines marring them. She still had trouble respecting her womanly assets. Her waist was more narrow than it had been before, and tighter. Jessie had always picked on her about her penchant for sucking in her abdomen to look skinnier. Gwen didn't have to do that now, as the skin lay flat over firm, smooth muscle. Another pang of homesickness made her wish for Jessie's presence. She had asked the elves here about her, and they too, had not seen her. It made Gwen believe that perhaps Jessie had not come to Middle Earth after all, and while it made her feel selfishly saddened and rather alone, much of her was grateful that her lifelong friend was not living the same brand of insanity she had been these months. Absently, Gwen continued to bathe.

Her wide hips seemed to jut out wider than ever in comparison to her waist, but her buttocks and thighs were firm under her sudsy hands. Gwen ignored the knots and ropes of scar tissue lining her body as she washed, but the changes to her body utterly fascinated her. _I'm not a girl anymore, not even by Earth standards._ It was hard to believe, but the proof lay just under her hands. Her monthly had come with a vengeance this time, and she had bled heavily – unusually so. Gwen attributed it to stress and so much change in her body and diet, but she had no female friends in which to confide in or garner advice from, so she dealt with the nasty womanly issue on her own.

Gwen wished there was a way to keep her clothing clean, though. She was learning to become more comfortable with that aspect of living in Middle Earth, though she missed tampons terribly. _Oh well._ _It was just one more thing she was getting used to in this world._ Finally clean, Gwen frolicked around in the pool, enjoying the splash of the water and her own company as she played. Her movements ensured no soapy suds remained on her form anywhere.

Gwen finally rose from the water, resolving to get out before she pruned, though she hated leaving the warmth for the cool outside air. She turned to wade out of the pool and grab a towel, crying out in fright when she caught sight of Boromir standing at the water's edge, watching her with hooded, faintly shocked eyes. The expression on his face quickly bled away to stoic nothingness, which Gwen appreciated in such a vulnerable moment.

He had her towel open between his hands, and there wasn't a trace of emotion on his face as he offered it to her. Gwen stood frozen, unable to make a movement even to cover herself to his eyes. Instinctively she sank back into the shielding water, knowing why his eyes had lingered on her. _Her scars were hideous._ But he had no ill intentions toward her, that was clear. "Who has hurt you, _elen_?" he ground out lowly, a thread of shock clearly within the words. His voice, at least, was rough with emotion. Embarrassed, Gwen flushed, unable to respond, shame and helpless anger filling her as his eyes traced every line her body possessed even through the water. "Your wounds are not random, but come from an attack," he reasoned. Is that really all a man would see when he looked at her? Sure, this was _Boromir_ , but he was still a man, wasn't he? Twin sadness and anger rose inside her.

It was obvious that he couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him; that her body had suffered such damage, and was obviously no accident. When she didn't respond, he motioned for her to come to him, so that he could wrap her in the towel. His action spurred her own, and Gwen sprang forward to snatch the towel from his grasp angrily. "How dare you spy on me!" she cried, skin inflamed with embarrassed, girlish upset. Aghast at his actions, she pressed the towel to her front to hide her body. Boromir was sputtering in protest at her words. "I was not spying! I heard you splashing around and came to check if you were safe! I would _never_ , Gwen." He looked utterly horrified that she would think he would do such a perverted thing, and that she had called his honor into question.

"Never would I do this thing you speak of. You must believe me." He held his hands out in the universal sign of pleading. He looked so pitifully upset and earnest. Gwen sighed, anger bleeding from her slowly. _He still saw you, though!_ She wrapped the towel around her securely, hiding her body from breast to thigh. She avoided Boromir's questioning eyes with a sigh. "Just forget what you saw, Boromir. It happened a long time ago." She picked up her bag before turning to walk past him, resolved not to speak of it anymore. Boromir, of course, didn't go for it. He stopped her, and Gwen was afraid he would question her further.

Instead, he ground out roughly, "No man here would ever hurt you, _elen_. You know that, yes?" Gwen wanted to laugh at his naive words, but she knew this would wound him greatly. He wasn't speaking of just anyone, but himself. She couldn't wound his pride. She patted his hand with a small smile. "Boromir, I know that you would never do such a thing to a woman." He looked relieved. "But there are others who would," she surmised. Not all men could be as good and kind as Aragorn and Boromir. He knew she spoke the truth – abuses and torments happened every day. "I didn't spy on you," he said calmly. "I was waiting for you to finish, and heard the splashes. I became concerned that you had fallen in the water. I only wished to help," he explained.

Gwen smiled at him then, despite her embarrassment. _He's seen your body!_ The thought made her want to fall through the ground. It just didn't seem right for a man to see her naked like that, scars aside. _"_ I know. It's okay," she said. "Just please...don't talk about it. It's in the past...let's let it stay there." Boromir drew himself up and nodded, drawing her bag from her shoulder. "I see the bruise that elf put on your shoulder," he glared disapprovingly. "Let me carry this. I will turn while you dress." She nodded, and the Gondorian turned to allow her to dress in private. When she was properly attired, they walked together from the bathing pool. "Aragorn suggested we take a meal together in grove tonight," Boromir said as they walked. Gwen nodded, already looking forward to the time with her friends. "I was bidden to come and get you. They are waiting for us." He gave her a pointed look from his greater height.

Gwen ignored his attempt to make her feel badly for taking so long in the bath pools, but stuck her tongue out at him playfully. He swatted her behind equally as playfully. "Stop that, girl," he reprimanded her. "You are nearly a woman, and 'tis unbecoming! What will you do when all this is over and you must make a good marriage for yourself? You certainly cannot act as you do now _._ " His playful question drew her up short, and sent a lightning bolt through her to her toes. _I can't get married here – no man would want me._ With her scars? No way! At least, the guys back home hadn't wanted her. Why should those in Middle Earth be different?

"I don't think that will happen, Boromir," Gwen replied, managing a small, derisive laugh. She really didn't want to speak about it further, and the silence that followed spoke volumes for her anyway. It was bad enough that Boromir saw how scarred and disfigured she was. She made a point of watching the leaves fall from the trees around them. _God, this place really is beautiful._

Boromir stopped short on the path, drawing her to a halt as well. He solemnly murmured, "A good man will marry you despite your scars, Gwen." Not wanting to remain on heavy conversation, Gwen kept her voice light and playful. She smiled up at the tall Gondorian. "You think so?" Boromir inclined his head at her solemnly. "Of course. You have much to offer a man. Your cooking is very good, you can sew a rend in my tunic better than any seamstress in Minas Tirith," Gwen interrupted him with a genuinely amused laugh.

"Boromir, you're playing!," she retorted. "I can't sew well at all!"

He laughed deeply, and it lightened his handsome features greatly. "Okay, no sewing then, though I still think your skill is good," he allowed. "But what do I know of such things?" He paused then, growing reflective. "You are good with a sword and you can write and read. You are an intelligent and brave. Why would any man not want you for a bride?" He looked down at her seriously, eyes keen. "Do you think yourself plain?"

Gwen flushed at his disbelief, sputtering, "No!" It was only half true. Her scarred figure was ugly, but she herself was not. "It's not that. Goodness, you make it sound so easy. Finding a husband isn't, you know." She knew it was a deflecting answer. Boromir considered her for a moment and Gwen blushed but he didn't tease her any longer, just replying, "I think you will be surprised, _elen,_ at the offers you will surely receive _._ " He ushered her along the path more quickly than before. "Come now, the food will be too cold to eat, and all the hobbits will hate you!"

Gwen forced all the negative thoughts she had away and laughed, speeding up instantly, eager for the company of all her friends.

* * *

 _Please review._


	27. The Looking Glass

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty- Six: The Looking Glass**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _February 15th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

The night before the Fellowship was to leave Lórien, Gwen tossed and turned restlessly, unable to sleep deeply. Her dreams were troubled and numerous, and eventually she gave up on sleep entirely. She knew Frodo was doing the same, as she had heard him, restless, on his own pallet across the grove. _Poor Frodo. I can't imagine the level of anxiousness and fear he must be feeling._

Her own feelings couldn't come close, Gwen was sure. The hobbit was growing more morose and tense as time went on, and she worried for her friend. _How much longer can he take the burden of the ring? What happens if he can't do it anymore?_ She couldn't begin to touch _that_ idea. It would be much more difficult outside of the Golden Wood, and she was very nervous about leaving this safe haven, especially after losing Gandalf to the balrog. It would be a worse outing than leaving Rivendell had been, and she had had to say goodbye to so many people there.

Tired of laying in bed without an ounce of sleepiness, Gwen tossed away her blankets and rose quietly, careful not to wake any of the others. Frodo noticed her departure from the grove, but she placed a hand to her lips to signal quiet, and motioned with the other that she would be taking a walk. He nodded, worry for her assuaged, and laid back down on his pallet, staring up at the treetops above.

Satisfied that he understood her, Gwen set off down the path, taking in the ethereal trees as they were in the dead of night. There were few lights to guide her on the path, but she had walked this way many times in the last month, and knew she would not get lost if she didn't go too far. Lightning bugs fluttered above her head in droves, flickering with their lighted tails, delighting her with their multitude and brightness. As a child she would fill Mason jars with them on warm summer nights, and seeing them here reminded her of that small happiness. _It's a little piece of home..._

Enjoying the night as she was, Gwen walked the path back and forth many times, watching the bugs flicker their lights above her, listening to the night sounds of the forest. It was incredibly peaceful, as it seemed all elf dwellings were, and she would be sad to leave. After a while, Gwen turned back down the path towards the grove, intending to seek her bed at last.

As she entered the grove where her friends slept peacefully, she noticed two things. The first was that Frodo was at last asleep, and the second was an otherworldly Galadriel was gliding amongst the trees ahead, silent as a ghost and twice as creepy. Curious, Gwen followed her path, telling herself that it wasn't stalking or sneaking. _Maybe now I'll get my chance to ask about going_ home. She couldn't help but want to know, even as she was sure she couldn't leave now with Gandalf gone. Even when the path beneath her feet became unknown, Gwen kept after the Lady for that reason alone. _What is she doing out at this time of night?_ _She was curious._

Gwen soon found herself in the most beautiful of gardens. It was immaculately kept, and lushly filled with plants of every sort. A bold color caught her eye, and she drew closer to the source to find the most beautiful blood-red flowers she had ever seen fill the small space around her. She bent to take a closer look, and she found that the blooms were pure red, without a trace of pink or white in the petals. They gave off the most heavenly scent.

She touched one bloom gently, a small smile on her face. "Beautiful, are they not?" Lady Galadriel's voice caused her to nearly jump from her skin, but Gwen tensed too quickly to truly scream, and the noise came out a squeak. She jumped up and away from the flower bed. "My lady, I'm sorry!" Mortified at having been caught snooping, Gwen flushed and tried not to look guilty. Galadriel merely motioned to the flowers.

"They are called _seregon,_ _"_ _the elf Lady explained._ "Once they grew on a most ancient hill, Amon Rûdh, amongst the ancient petty-dwarves that dwelt there, a very long time ago. Now, thanks to an old friend's kindness, they grow here – in my garden." She smiled gently. Gwen couldn't seem to form proper words, so great was her embarrassment at having been caught, but the Lady smiled and turned, hand motioning for her to follow. "Do not be troubled, child. You came for answers did you not?"

Gwen nodded before realizing the woman could not see her, closing her mouth at the silent, gentle command to come. She was led down a crushed stone path further into the garden, and farther through a clearing in which a great tree shielded it from the other parts of the foliage-filled space.

More flowers and plants grew here, and there was even a small fountain and bench for sitting to be found. Galadriel sat on the stone bench elegantly, patting the rock gently, a clear request that she sit beside her. Gwen did after a moment, confused as to why the Lady would seek to speak with her like this. They sat together in companionable silence for long minutes, listening to the night sounds. Gwen's thoughts were racing by the time the Lady broke the silence.

"You are a curiosity to me, Gwendolyn," she smiled, eyes twinkling down into Gwen's gaze. "A very great curiosity. There is so much I do not know about you, and yet, so much that I have seen of you."

Gwen wasn't sure how to take a bit of that, so after a moment or two of trying to find the right words, she settled for, "Thanks...I think?" Her words made the Lady laugh, and the sound was like tinkling bells on the wind. _This woman is definitely not of this world – well, my old world, I guess,_ Gwen amended. "I can see why my daughter's husband praised your spirit so." Gwen stared at the elven woman for long moments, trying to work out what she had meant and who she was talking about. _Who is her son-in-law?_

"Lord Elrond is married to my daughter, Celebrían," she explained after a moment. Gwen nodded, understanding better now the connection between them. She cleared her throat nervously, smiling slightly at the Lady beside her. Gwen was irrationally nervous, in fact. "Uh, yes. Lord Elrond was very good to me, even if he treated me a little like a criminal," she laughed. "I learned very much from him about healing." Galadriel looked at her keenly, her gaze interested. "He's the one who got me interested in the healing arts. Oh!" She remembered the books Celeborn had allowed her to borrow.

"I nearly forgot! I need to give Lord Celeborn back the books he loaned me from his library. Let me go get them." She rose from the bench, but Lady Galadriel stopped her with a gently laid hand to her arm. "There is no need, child. Simply lay them on your pallet on the morrow, and they will be returned to my husband. Sit with me for a few moments more." Reluctantly Gwen sat, still feeling nervous.

 _What is it about this lady?_ Galadriel's tinkling laugh sounded again.

"You fairly hum with nervousness, my dear child. Relax. I am not so much the witch your dwarven friend would have you believe." Gwen, shocked, stared at her aghast. "Oh I'd never believe that, my lady," she said hastily. "I just never expected to be able to speak with you like this. And you are after all, queen of your realm." Galadriel cocked her head as she listened to the words, smiling towards the end. "Ah, but I am no queen, small one. Just a woman, like yourself."

 _Fat chance._ Gwen mentally smacked herself for the thought, especially since she'd already discovered that the Lady could read her mind.

"You have been lonely this last month?" Galadriel asked this knowingly, and Gwen started to deny it, only to realize she _had_ been somewhat lonely for company of the female variety as of late. The female elves she had seen walking the paths has studiously avoided her, as if she carried a dangerous disease. "I have my friends," Gwen replied. "But, I do miss being able to talk to another female at times," she admitted. Gwen missed her mother and Jessie and Dothiel almost more than anything else. Galadriel's long golden hair rustled as she nodded in understanding.

"I expected as much," the Lady replied. "You have not been happy with my kin in that regard, and I will admit their behavior has been less than I expected myself. For that, I am sorry."

Gwen remained tactfully silent. Galadriel continued, "I remember when my daughter was close to your age – relatively, you understand," her eyes twinkled down at her. Gwen knew that elves aged very slowly. An elf of a thousand years old would only be considered a young adult. "All awkwardness and self-consciousness. She never wanted to leave our home, even to visit family." The Lady laughed merrily before it faded to seriousness. "But those are not your traits, are they?" She gazed down at Gwen with faint sadness in her eyes.

"You have been handed a very different path than my Celebrian, and I must say, you have done quite well for yourself thus far. You are a woman any mother would be proud of," she murmured. The Lady's words brought a rush of tears to Gwen's eyes, and for the first time Gwen felt exasperated with herself. _All I ever do is cry, for Christ' sakes!_ _Lately it seemed to be true._

Galadriel moved a lock of her hair from her face, understanding in her incredible gaze. "But it has not been easy, has it?" Tears brimmed her eyes as she looked up into the Lady's face, shaking her head silently. "I have seen the scars you carry, young one. I have seen the path you have walked that led you here to me. It has not been easy for one so young as you are, and your hardest moments have yet to pass." Gwen wrenched her head up, surprised and a little afraid. What powers had allowed the elf that vision? Galadriel nodded wisely.

"Oh, yes, youngling. I have seen many things of your life," she said, her voice brimming with power and authority. "Of your final toil with the Witch King on Earth, and of how you weep for your lost home, and for those you love. I have see, too, how you begged your God to take you home." Her words sent astonishment soaring through Gwen. _No one has that power!_ Galadriel's words sobered Gwen quickly, and she twisted her hands slightly, waiting for the Lady to continue with her point. "Your situation, while difficult, is not so different from another I can recall," she added musingly. Galadriel motioned to the red blooms growing about her feet. "The one who brought the _seregon_ to me many years ago, she has a story much like yours. Forever severed from the world she knew."

Gwen gaped, stunned at the information the elven queen was imparting at that moment. It tickled a memory of hers. "Lord Elrond and Gandalf once spoke of another person who had claimed to...not be from Middle Earth." Galadriel watched her carefully as she spoke. "Yes, I am speaking of her, Gwendolyn Carrick. She, like you, was forced into this life away from her home. I would assume the world she comes from is the same as your own, but I do not know."

Gwen was curious. "Can I meet her?" she asked hopefully. Galadriel smiled indulgently. "Unfortunately, she dwells far from these woods, among the dwarves of Erebor. You might ask Gimli about her. I am sure he knows more than he believes he does in regards to her origins." Her eyes twinkled, and Gwen made a mental note to do just that.

All their talk of Earth had made Gwen rather homesick, despite her resolve to keep her mind here in Middle Earth.. "I miss them," she rasped, "So much." Galadriel's eyes were bright with compassion when they met Gwen's. "Even things I never thought I'd miss, I do," she mourned, almost to herself, quietly. Gwen knew she might regret being so open with the elven lady, but she needed to speak on it badly. The other woman surprised her by asking, "If I could send you home at this very moment, would you go?" Gwen stared at the Lady open-mouthed, not daring to hope, stunned at even the idea.

Galadriel looked very serious.

"You think my words a cruel jest? They are not. Answer me honestly, now, girl." Galadriel's gaze turned rather stern, and Gwen was reminded of her own mother in that moment. The thought made her heart ache, but even as her mouth formed the word _Yes_ , the faces of her companions flashed before her eyes, and she found that she could not speak. Galadriel smiled slightly, as if she knew her thoughts and understood the position she was in.

"Ahh, yes. I see," the elf woman said, seeing the choices in Gwen's mind. "It is a struggle for you now. To give up what you have always known for a new land, a new life? To begin to adjust, to adapt, to plant roots. And then to have it offered back so easily, only to find the easy choice is no longer quite so? I remember how that feels. I remember very well." Galadriel's gaze turned fierce for a moment before softening on hers. Green eyes met blue again. "I do not envy you the choice, even as I would offer it to you thus."

Gwen struggled to understand; the Lady's words were so veiled beyond her understanding, and it made it very hard to follow. _She knows a way for me to go home._ The bolt of excitement tore through her. _Home!_ But instead of California, she thought of long stories around the fire, swordplay with Boromir, archery with Legolas. Aragorn's brotherly embrace. Frodo's lost gaze, so filled with suffering. Gandalf, falling to his death beneath the mountain.

"I cannot choose, not now, when I'm needed here." Gwen choked, astonished that she had not requested to be sent home immediately. Was she crazy? "Frodo needs me here! They all do. I can't leave now."

Galadriel looked at her solemnly a moment before rising to fill a silver pitcher with water from a nearby stream. "Do you wish to see what future your choice could bring about?" She poured the water into the fountain into the center of the garden, and Gwen was reminded of the storybook tale of Snow White. _Mirror Mirror, on the wall._

"How do I know what I see is real?" she asked, even as she stood to look. Galadriel laughed, and Gwen was mesmerized by the sound. There was definitely magic at work around her. "You will not know, for what you see may not come pass; indeed, you may see many possibilities." Gwen walked towards the fountain, realizing for the first time that evening how tall the Lady Galadriel was. She stepped up to the stone, but instead of staring into the water, looked to the woman again.

"I am afraid of what I will see," Gwen admitted. What if I made the wrong choice?" Galadriel smiled softly. "Little one, no choice you make can be wrong, if it is made with a resolute heart and a determination to see that path walked to completion." Gwen sighed. _That doesn't answer anything at all._ She looked into the mirror, watching in amazement when the surface revealed her parents, crying softly and holding one another. Their image jolted Gwen, and she realized she _had_ forgotten their faces, even as the smell of her father's cigars and her mother's perfume wafted to her nostrils. _Oh momma..._

She wanted to touch them, but the surface changed to reveal one that horrified her: Merry and Pippin being carried away by enormous orcs, and herself, bleeding upon the ground, eyes glazed with a familiar dazed look on her face. She had been attacked!

The scene changed again, this time showing her friends, laughing uproariously around a table in a rustic, Nordic hall. A beautiful golden-haired woman joined them with a broad smile for Gwen, and she watched as they chatted like old friends amongst the others, then the scene showed Gwen, caught in a passionate embrace with a massive, brawny man.

Before she could contemplate _that_ scene, the image changed again, showing this time a towering white city, beautiful banners streaming in the wind. Aragorn speaking to the crowd gathered there. Bowing to the hobbits, who are whole and healthy and clean. Gwen, hugging the same blonde woman from before, clearly overjoyed. Gwen, crying heartbreaking sobs as a man walked away from her. She couldn't see his face, only the finery of his clothing and the confidence with which he moved.

The same white city, burning in flames, overrun with orcs. People screaming – dying.

Gwen wrenched her eyes away, and the images faded from the water. She found she was panting, gasping for air. _What the fuck was all that?_ Lady Galadriel watched her keenly. _None of it made sense._ "What you have seen are future events; not guaranteed, but possible." Gwen was shaken, and she stumbled from the mirror. "I don't know what I should do." Her words came out a croak. Galadriel was there, clasping her hands gently. "For now," she said, "You should return to your bed. None of these events you see have come to pass, nor will they all." She walked with Gwen back up the stone steps, towards the grove where her beloved companions lay asleep. For a time they walked in silence, as Gwen contemplated all she had seen. There were certainly events in that mirror she never wanted to see happen.

"Do you know why your companions call you, _elen_?" Galadriel's eyes twinkled down into hers. Gwen shook her head, quickly speaking over the Lady when she sought to continue. "I promised Aragorn I would not ask to know until after our quest is complete."

The Lady inclined her head. "Then I shall not tell you." They had arrived at the grove. Gwen started towards her bed, eager for sleep. The Lady stopped her with a gentle hand. "Know this, young one. Your destiny is yours alone, and no other can walk the same path that you do. Magic cannot sway the road, only those who walk it. You have told me tonight you wish to walk with Frodo and his companions further still, and that is admirable. My hope for you is that you only ever have reason to be glad for that choice."

She sent Gwen to her bed with those words, and though she wanted to stay awake to contemplate their meaning and all that she had seen, Gwen fell into a deep and consuming sleep.

* * *

 _Please review._


	28. Down the Anduin

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Last one for today :)_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven: Down the Anduin**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _February 16th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

The next morning, Gwen and the others packed their belongings with heavy hearts. The period of rest they had found in the Golden Wood was hard to say goodbye to, but every person of their company could see how each day that passed created a larger burden for Frodo to bear. So, they rose with the sun and carefully made their pallets, resolved to continue their journey on this new day.

They bathed, quickly and efficiently, and Legolas braided her hair, as he had done so many times before. Gwen was grateful when the heavy curtain no longer swung freely down her back but hung in a series of confining braids.

Gwen laid the tomes she had read during her time there on the pillow, silently thanking Celeborn for his generosity. He hadn't had to be so kind to her, but he had been. She pushed the memories of the previous night to the back of her mind, deciding sometime between waking and cleaning that knowledge of the future would only cause her to get other people killed trying to avoid it, so she didn't dwell overmuch on the images she had seen in Galadriel's mirror. Except for that kiss.

It had looked – well, for lack of a better word – amazing. Her future self had seemed to enjoy it greatly, and had no qualms about it. Gwen flushed just remembering the way it looked. _That's not for you, though._ Shoving the memories away, Gwen packed her bag swiftly, deciding only to take the combs Dothiel had given her, her toothbrush, the tightly rolled bandages, and the tin of healing balm Lord Elrond had given her. In the rest of the space, Legolas placed an elvish way-bread he called _lembas_.

It would help keep them going when the rations got low.

Gwen strapped Burningstar to her back next to her quiver, which was filled with a bunch of newly fletched arrows. At her waist she wore an elvish dagger. Rumíl had been kind enough to provide them both for her that very morning, and she had kissed him on the cheek in thanks. She wasn't sure she had ever seen an elf blush before then, but he flushed scarlet as her lips touched his smooth skin. She smiled at the memory as she swung her full pack to her shoulders, huffing a bit when the weight dug the hilt of her blade into her shoulder.

She turned to Aragorn, who watched them all pack slowly with a pensive gaze. "All set?" She tried to sound cheerful, but Gwen could see he was in no mood for it. She knew he was thinking of Gandalf, and of the role of leader he would now have to fill. The hobbits were moving slowly, their reluctance to be off quite obvious. Sam, who had been so fascinated with the elves, looked particularly sad to be going. Eventually, however, the companions had no reason to linger further, and together they made their way to the boats that Lord Celeborn had secured for them.

They would be taking the swift River Anduin to the Falls of Rauros, and from there they would make their way to Mordor. It was a form of travel that worried Gwen, given that at any point, any of them could end up going for a swim. Or, in the hobbits' case, could end up drowning. The idea made her shudder.

Gwen was surprised to find many elves lining the path they walked. The stood, respectful and solemn, some throwing small flowers and sweet honeysuckle onto their path. It was shocking that they had taken the time to do such a thing. One elf child even handed her a hibiscus-like flower for her hair, which she placed in a plait by her ear. The path they walked took them along the river, and soon they could see the Lord and Lady waiting to send them on their way.

The boats they would be using sat low in the water, and seemed to her to be little more than canoes. Gwen reminded herself that elvish-made items typically were more than they appeared. The Fellowship came to a halt before the elven delegation, solemn and silent. They stood, shoulder to shoulder as the Lord and Lady looked at each of them seriously. Their gazes made Gwen uncomfortable, but she knew they meant her and the rest of her friends only the best.

To her shock, Lord Celeborn presented each of them with a cloak, saying that the garb of the Galadhrim would protect them from unfriendly eyes henceforth. The ends of the heavy cloak were clasped with a beautiful and practical leaf-shaped brooch. He spoke urgently to Aragorn a few moments while other elves loaded their belongings on boats. Silently an elf took her pack, sword, and bow from her and stowed it securely at the back of the boat she would be in.

Lady Galadriel was speaking to them all, then.

"The blessings of all go with you this day." She spoke with genuine, earnest caring. One by one, they received a gift from the Lady and climbed into a boat. Legolas received a bow of the Galadhrim, which must have been a fine gift, because he handled it reverently, testing it slightly before placing an elegant hand to his chest and bowing. He would be first in his boat. Gwen smiled when she saw he waited at the docks for Gimli.

Perhaps the most surprising happening to occur during their time in the Golden Wood was that the elf and the dwarf of their company had discovered the common ground that had always existed between them. She had heard their deep conversations one night as she fell into sleep, and the next morning, they were almost cordial to each other. It had warmed her heart then, and to see their friendship blossom under the circumstances had been a great blessing.

Gimli took a particularly long time with the lady, and eventually she cut a lock of hair from her head and wrapped it in a cloth before passing it to the dwarf, who looked up at her with stars in his eyes. Gwen thought it might be love for the stoic little warrior. She laughed lightly when he nearly fell off the dock as he moved forward, still staring at the Lady. She masked the sound behind a cough, but the Lady turned to her with a familiar twinkle in her blue eyes.

Nervously, Gwen approached the Lord and Lady, bowing low with thanks when they passed her two books. "The first of these is of my personal library." Lord Celeborn explained. "It is an elvish tome detailing battle triage practices that I thought you would find particularly fascinating." Lord Celeborn's normally serious countenance broke into a small smile as he explained, "But you will have to continue your study in our language to read it, Gwendolyn."

She clutched the books to her chest, nodding. "I do not think you will find it terribly difficult at your current level of study," he allowed, "But there may be words you do not recognize. Prince Legolas will be able to help you."

He bowed to her then, and Lady Galadriel towered over her as she showed her the second book. "This tome has yet to be filled. In its pages, you may write of your own history, so that you will not forget that which you once knew." Gwen looked up at the Lady, wordless with gratitude. The lady bent close, so that she could smell the sweet honey of her skin. The elf whispered in Gwen's ear. "Your path will be long, and trying," she said. "But you will find the peace you so crave." Gwen swallowed around the rising lump in her throat, nodding. She didn't question how the lady knew her deepest desires.

The Lady bent and kissed her brow. _Courage, elen_. Her voice echoed in Gwen's head. She released the smaller woman and Gwen passed the elves, smiling as she watched Legolas struggle to help Gimli into the boat they were to share.

It seemed the dwarf was not so comfortable on the water. Eventually, though, he settled at the back of their boat, and Legolas was turning to help her in. She passed her books to Gimli so that he could store them in her pack before allowing Legolas to take her hand and guide her into the boat.

It didn't rock as much as she expected, mostly due to Gimli's settling weight in the back. She was soon ensconced in the low vessel comfortably, and Legolas took the front. He handed her a paddle and took the second for himself. Together, the three of them watched as the others were given fine gifts by the Lord and Lady.

"It is a blessing to be able to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth," Gimli said huskily; his words were very sweet, but Gwen was shocked at the genuine emotion in his words. Legolas smiled back at the dwarf, as Gwen gaped at him. _Where is the real Gimli?_

Gone was the stout male who spoke of witches and tongue-speak, and in his place sat an admirer of elves! "What happened to her being a witch, Gimli?" Gwen teased him, and she heard the tinkling laughter of the Lady in her head. Gimli merely reddened and muttered something unintelligible.

Gwen straightened in the boat to watch Sam receive his gift of elven rope, as well as a box of soil containing a seed of the mellyrn trees growing around them. The other hobbits had received Noldorin daggers, and Sam seemed almost put out by his gift in comparison. But it seemed to her that the Lady had a method to her gift-giving, and certainly there must be a good reason for Sam's gift being what it was.

Boromir and Aragorn waited in their respective boats, and Merry and Pippin joined Boromir while Sam joined Aragorn. They waited now on only Frodo. Galadriel handed the hobbit a crystal vial filled with some bright liquid, kissed him upon the brow, and allowed him to pass into the boat with Sam and Aragorn. The Lord and Lady stood at the edge of the water, watching as the boats began their southward journey down the great river.

In this manner, they said their goodbyes to the Golden Wood.

* * *

The morning and afternoon was positively gorgeous, and they made quick time down the rapids of the river. The sun was not too bright, but it was a warm day for February. The waters were mostly calm, but at times, Gwen felt that she would go flying from the boat in the rapid water. Gimli and Legolas kept the boat steady with their greater weight. Gimli told stories of his childhood that had them both rolling with laughter, and later, while the dwarf was napping, Legolas and Gwen spoke together of small nothings in elvish for practice.

Gwen told him of her gift from Lord Celeborn, which he exclaimed was "a kingly gift indeed." Lord Celeborn was, she was told, quite stingy with his books. The day passed quickly, and many miles were eaten up as they traveled. They ate small bites of lembas bread to avoid stopping for food. Legolas expertly steered the boat to follow Aragorn and Boromir while Gwen added what power she could to give them speed.

As night fell, they still did not stop, and Gwen was fast growing exhausted. "What is he afraid of, Legolas? He makes us go as if a dog bites at our heels." Legolas glanced back at her worriedly, unable to answer. Gimli growled out a low snore, announcing to the pair that he was asleep again. "Sleep, _elen,"_ _Legolas bid her._ "I can manage for a few hours without you, and hopefully Aragorn will choose to stop soon."

After a few minutes more of rowing, Gwen heeded the elf's words and pulled her oar from the swiftly moving water and leaned back slightly to rest against Gimli's armored bulk. The smooth motion of the boat in the water soon had her drifting off.

In what seemed to be a few moments, the boat was coming to a stop against the bank of a small inlet, and Legolas was whispering at them both to stay where they were and sleep. Groggily she watched him tie the boat securely to a tree, only vaguely aware of Boromir and Aragorn doing the same. It seemed he didn't want to chance a camp tonight, and that they would be sleeping in the boats.

Beneath her head, Gimli's chest rose in a soft snore, and a few moments later, Legolas joined them. It took only mild encouragement for the elf to lean back against her and fall to sleep himself. Gwen fell asleep listening to the soft voices of Aragorn and Boromir discussing something seriously. Gwen awoke to small noises every few hours, and but she could never pinpoint the source of the sound. It was, as a whole, a very difficult night.

Once morning broke, they stirred from the boats long enough to stretch their legs and eat a quick breakfast before Aragorn was ushering them back into the boats. "What are you worried about, Aragorn?" Gwen confronted him soon after. She was worried, otherwise she might not have demanded an answer, and he considered her out of the corner of his eye as he untied the boat.

Sighing, he dropped the rope and faced her. "We are being followed, _elen,_ _"_ _he said at last._ "There are orcs tracking us on the eastern shore. We must reach the falls as quickly as possible in order to avoid them, and even then it is not safe to cross." The others listened keenly, but there was no time to contemplate Aragorn's words, as the orcs in question appeared at the ridge on the other side of the river, forcing them to double-time it down the already treacherous rapids. Even through the beating sun, the orcs pursued them. Gwen could see them like black ants on the ridge above, and no matter how quickly they moved, the orcs stayed with them.

 _This is not good._

* * *

 _Please review._


	29. The First Cracks

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight: The First Cracks**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _February 23rd,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

A week passed as they traveled the long Anduin, and Gwen was fairly certain she understood why this river was named as it was. Legolas had explained it to her halfway down, when she was sure she never wanted to see a speck of water again. "It is named the Anduin, _elen,_ meaning 'long river,'" he informed her with a fair bit of glee in his voice. "It runs nearly 1,400 miles over this land as the crow flies." The information might have interested her had she not been so put off by it at the time. She was sick of seeing it.

Aragorn had run them ragged in the last days. They stopped rarely, and only them for quick bathroom breaks. Legolas, Gimli, and Gwen had taken to rotating so that one person could be sleeping at all times, though she thought they could have gotten by on the great, swift rapids of the river alone. They were fast approaching the Sarn Gebir, a particularly dangerous section of the river which Boromir warned would tear their boats out from under them if they did not evade the treacherous rapids.

But now they were alone. Their boat was going too slow! The sun was setting rapidly, and Gwen feared they would become lost from the others in the waning light. She ignored the ever-stronger pressure in her abdomen, fearing she would loose her bladder before they could stop. "Legolas!" She nudged the elf, who came awake instantly, reflexively grasping his bow. "I'm having trouble seeing," Gwen murmured. "I need you to take over." Her tone was scarcely a whisper, kept low because afraid she would wake Gimli. The elf nodded and took her oar silently.

"God – I need to pee," she groaned. Legolas, more than used to her strange outbursts at times like these, only fractionally smiled, but did not reply. Thankfully, it seemed that Aragorn was leading them down a less choppy, gentle offshoot of the river, and as the sun cleared the sky and night began to settle in on them, their boats came to a halt against the western shore. _Thank God!_ Gwen shot from the boat and ran from the tiny beach before anyone had a chance to stop her, seeking cover enough to do her business.

She wrenched down her breeches and squatted, groaning in relief when her bladder began to empty. _Holy Christ that's the best feeling ever._ After a few moments she finished and retied her pants securely. She stood and took one step from her previous spot before a familiar _thwack_ detonated inches from her head. Gwen cringed when she saw the arrow embedded in the tree behind her, where she had been a second before. _Oh not again!_ The darkly fletched arrow could only belong to one group. _Orcs!_

The sound of more arrows whizzing through the leaves around her filled the air, and Aragorn and Boromir could be heard cursing from the beach. They were under attack, but from where and by how many was not clear. Gwen shot off through the trees, trying to zigzag to make targeting her harder as she headed for their makeshift camp area. Adrenaline began to pump in her veins, and her breathe began to come in shallow pants. _How can they be attacking us?_ There were no enemies to be found on this side of the river, though the possibility became greater the closer they got to the Falls. _We are at least two days away!_ _No one should have been able to get to them._

A hideous, shrill shriek rent the air as Gwen burst through the trees to find Legolas aiming his bow across the river, while Aragorn and Boromir guarded the beachhead. She cringed at the sound, knowing it meant a wraith was close. With a shudder, Gwen acknowledged a tacit fear of the beings before heading for her own weapons inside the boat. The hobbits hid themselves behind trees nearby as the others tried to figure out a plan.

"Get down!" Aragorn yelled at her furiously as another volley of arrows sailed down onto them, landing dangerously close to her. She groaned at the low-flying fell beast swooping in and out around their landing site. _The wraith is really close! Oh hell._ Another arrow whizzed by her ear, barely nicking her skin, and Gwen dove between two large logs on the beach, but the protection they offered was minimal at best.

From what she could see, the orcs had mounted the attack with their archers only, and they'd picked the perfect spot in which to do it. The river just before Sarn Gebir narrowed dramatically, and the distance between the two shores was incredibly small in comparison to the great chasm of protection the Fellowship had enjoyed before. Every few seconds arrows volleyed onto the beach, pinning them all down despite Legolas' efforts in picking off the archers with his incredible aim. _Night vision doesn't hurt either!_ Gwen was unarmed despite her efforts to reach her weapons, but her bow and quiver would do her no good even if she had them because of the darkness. She couldn't see for more than a few feet ahead of her in the black night.

The orcs had picked the perfect time to attack. The winged beast surged strongly by the beach again, barely visible, and a second shriek rent the air. "A fell beast!" Legolas cried out, and Gwen barely missed being skewered in the foot by a wicked arrow. She screamed, and curled her body into a small target. "The fell beast is protecting the orcs!" Legolas was shouting. "I cannot get a shot on the remaining ones!"

An arrow hit the log by her shoulder at an angle and partially embedded itself in the wood. "Legolas! Take down the beast!" She screamed, terrified of being impaled. If the elf hadn't already thought of that, Gwen would have been surprised, but the 'pinned down by arrow fire' bullshit was not working for her. Heart racing, she laid as flat as she could between the log and the sand, legs curled close. Another volley of arrows littered the beach as Legolas aimed for the beast above them. A well-placed shot pierced the beast as it flew over the river, and it roared in pain and anger along with the wraith it carried as it dropped from the sky.

With no wraith dominating the skies to protect them, Legolas quickly finished off the orc archers, and after a few silent moments, Gwen and the others could move from their hiding spots. Gwen rose from her spot on shaky legs, and she could see Merry shaking with cold, wet to the bone from having fallen from the boat in his haste to reach the beach during the attack. Frodo looked tortured, eyes bloodshot and face haggard, but Gwen's gaze on the little hobbit was broken by Aragorn, who ordered that they get a fire going.

Gwen stared at him, agog. "We were just attacked and you want us to get a fire going?" She said in disbelief. "Isn't that going to be a giant 'shoot me!' sign to the enemy?" Aragorn seemed to have lost all patience with her questions and with having to answer them, simply growling, "Do as I say! They already know we are here, and Merry will freeze if we don't get him warm." He turned from her, in no mood to be talked back to, and Gwen closed her mouth and collected firewood with Boromir. She was shocked by the normally even-tempered man; it had been a long time since he had spoken to her that way.

Still, he was the leader, so she shouldn't always question him as she did.

Soon enough they had a warm fire going on the beach, and Gwen found it helped her nerves to see something in the inky darkness that could envelop Middle Earth at night, even if it was just the dozen or so feet around the fire. It touched on that child-like belief that nothing in the light of day could harm you, as illogical as it was to think that. She would take what comfort she could get, however.

Gwen wasn't the only one who struggled that night. Nobody could sleep. Aragorn sat broodingly beside her as they ate a warm meal of potato stew Sam had created, bless him. Gwen started to apologize to the Ranger for her questions of him, but before she could speak, Aragorn stood and walked off, clearly settling in to guard the camp. Gwen stared after him, feeling for the world like she had lost the friend she thought she had made. _What is happening to this Fellowship?_

Boromir, noticing her face, leaned in and placed a hand on her knee in comfort. "Do not be upset, _elen._ _"_ _he assured her._ "He feels the unexpected attack was his fault, even if it was not." Gwen nodded, but the feeling of helplessness did not subside. _Why does this journey suddenly feel so disjointed?_

It didn't bode well for them.

* * *

The following morning they passed by Sarn Gebir using the narrow portage ways that filtered off from the main river. It seemed that the orcs that had been in hot pursuit of them had been for the most part subdued by Legolas' arrows, since there were no sightings of the enemy along the eastern shore throughout that morning and day.

Gwen brooded over Aragorn's unusual behavior much of that day. _Perhaps the stress of leading us is making him grouchy._ Her oar glided through the water in time to Legolas' and she became lost in the rhythm. _Do not be a child, Gwen,_ _she chastised herself._ _You know how heavy his burden is, just as you know of Frodo's. Boromir is right._

Legolas too, seemed overly quiet that day. "Are you alright, my friend?" Gwen asked softly in Sindarin after a while. Gimli snored away in the back of the boat, having taken guard most of the night. Legolas nodded once, but his eyes roved the shores as they passed. "Something is troubling you," Gwen persisted. His dogged alertness was extremely telling to her; very rarely did Legolas show this warrior side to himself.

The elf chanced a look back at her before continuing to control the boat expertly. "Much like you do, _elen._ I worry for our company," Legolas explained. He glanced over the banks of the western shore. "There is a threat here that I cannot trace but that I know to be there. It worries me greatly." Gwen listened carefully, concerned at his observation. She had learned to take what Legolas said very seriously, since he was typically the most observant of their group.

"A threat? You mean the orcs that follow us?" Legolas nodded once, then elaborated. "But there is something more...elusive." He trailed off. "I cannot explain it. I fear that it will make itself known very soon." His words did little to ease Gwen's mind. "You have felt the tensions, yes?" _He must mean among our friends._

"Of course I do," she answered. "It is impossible to miss. Aragorn never looses his temper, and yet he did repeatedly yesterday. Frodo seems quieter with every day that passes, and it is easy to feel his despair. Boromir..." she trailed off. Boromir had been following Frodo more and more, and seemed ever more attracted to the Ring he carried. Gwen sucked in a breath, then sighed. "Boromir seems more and more drawn to the Ring." It held dangerous sway over him, it seemed.

Legolas listened, silent. "It feels as if we are breaking apart, Legolas," Gwen murmured. Her words came out more mournful that she intended, but Legolas nodded in agreement. "Yes, it does. We must be on our guard now, more than ever," he resolved. "Strength, _elen_." Gimli's snores became raucously loud, and the normalcy of it made her laugh out loud, and after a pause Legolas joined in. Together their humor woke the sleeping dwarf, and he grouchily asked was so funny before nodding back off.

They made a quiet camp that night. Gwen focused on unrolling her pallet for bed, determined to get a good night's rest, for tomorrow they would pass the Argonath and end their journey on the Anduin. She had just lain down and gotten comfortable when Aragorn appeared out of the shadows and crouched at her side. His eyes were soft, and he cupped her cheek gently. The unexpectedness of his actions held Gwen's attention.

"I am sorry for my anger towards you," The Ranger apologized. "Know that it is not of your doing, but born of my own worries." He paused, trying to find the proper words, even as Gwen had already forgiven him of the anger. She could see the struggle within him as he wrestled with the right words. " _Elen,_ you know that I care deeply for you," Aragorn continued after a few heartbeats. "I worry for your safety. For all of our companions' safety." His voice was as heavy as his eyes were solemn. He, too, was bearing a burden. The mantle of leadership.

Gwen knew he needed a moment's comfort, and sat up to hug her friend. "All is forgiven," she whispered gently into his shoulder. "It was my fault to begin with. I should have trusted your judgment, and not questioned you so much." It didn't matter how she felt in this moment, Gwen knew, but rather what was best for their company; having added strife amongst them would only cause further problems and discontent, and she suspected the foul Ring was capitalizing on that malcontent. "We all trust you, Aragorn," she said with a smile as she pulled back out of their embrace. "Peace, my friend." Gwen certainly hoped he could find it within himself. The Ranger squeezed her in response and released her altogether. He stood up and smiled down at her, his face half covered in shadow. Seeing him like that, Gwen was reminded of the first time she saw him, sitting in the shadows of the Prancing Pony in Bree.

 _My God, but it feels like ages have passed since that day!_ "Sleep now," he commanded, not unkindly. "Tomorrow, we see my kin." His voice changed, and the smile that lit his face was worth all the apologies in the world.

* * *

The morning shined bright upon the first full night's rest Gwen had had since leaving Lórien. In fact, she was the last to rise, for which she was heckled as the Fellowship packed the boats. Boromir taunted her and called her lazy, and even Gimli was ribbing her good-naturedly. Everyone, it seemed, was ready to depart that day, for even the hobbits were in favor of taking their breakfast on the road. Or in the boats, as it were. It pleased her that there seemed to be a renewed energy amongst the Fellowship.

 _Gwen breathed in the cool morning air from her own place within Legolas' boat._ _I never want to see the beautiful crystal clear waters of this river ever again – at least not from a boat._ The thought made Gwen laugh, and Gimli poked her side. "What are you laughing about, girl?" he rumbled, his meaty finger digging into her side. The gravelly growl of Gimli's voice asking _that_ particular question would never get old, and Legolas shared a smile with her. It was no secret that the dwarf thought she giggled far too much for her age.

"I was just thinking of how grateful I will be to see these boats fall over the Rauros at last," she sighed with a smile. "I never thought I'd want to walk again after Eregion, but I really do!" Gimli chucked in response, clearly agreeing with her. "Look, Gwendolyn!" Legolas pointed out into the distance, sounding awed and she could just see twin columns far in the distance flanking either side of the river. From this distance they looked like little stones on either side of the water. "The Argonath!" He looked back at her, his eyes crinkling with his smile. Gwen squinted but couldn't make them out clearly.

"I think we'll have to get a little closer first, Legolas," she said ruefully. "I can barely see them!" Gimli smacked her shoulder playfully. "Damnable elvish eyesight, yes?" he goaded Legolas with a chomping grin. Gwen laughed and nodded, tossing a glance at the elf. Knowing their antics by now, he merely smiled and continued to paddle easily.

For a time after that the three of them talked companionably, and Gwen was glad for her friends' easy banter. It soothed her uneasy nerves. _Galadriel was right – we could so easily split up and the quest could fail, but I think we can make it._ Her oar cut the water in tandem with Legolas' until Gimli snatched it from her hands, saying she needed a break. It didn't serve one well to argue with a dwarf, Gwen had discovered, and she merely contented herself with looking around for a few hours.

The great walls of rock grew steadily taller around the river as they came closer and closer to the great pillars of the kings. The river wound like a snake through the rock walls, and at last opened up into the great pool of Nen Hithoel, and the twin guardians were finally in full view ahead. Their outstretched arms commanded them silently to turn back, and the message caused Gwen to shiver. As they passed the great statues, she got a sense of just how large they were – enormous. They must have taken ages to be completed. _My kin, Aragorn had called them. I wonder who they were._ On either side of the river, great carved quarries lay open and rocky, like a scar on the face of the landscape. _This must be where they got the stone to make the statues._ The river was flowing smooth and swift through the statues, and the great currents leading to the Falls of Rauros carried them swiftly past the two great Kings.

* * *

 _Please review._


	30. A Man of Honor

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Man of Honor**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _February 26th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen cheered internally when their boat hit the shore, knowing this would be the last time she stepped foot in the blasted watercraft for a journey longer than a hop, skip, and a stone's throw away for a very long time. Her numb backside attested to just how much she needed to do some plain-old walking. As the others disembarked the boats onto the sandy banks of the river, she stretched luxuriously, raising her hands above her head, tensing her thighs and stomach. _Gah, that feels heavenly._ _She sighed in contentment._

For now, Aragorn decided, they would wait for nightfall on the western shores of the Anduin before crossing to the eastern under night's cover. Legolas looked exceptionally worried at this bit of news, and even protested, which was exceedingly unusual for the elf. "Aragorn, I do not like this plan," he told the Ranger gravely. "We should leave now." His eyes were worried, and his posture was increasingly tense. Gwen couldn't help but wonder if he was being affected by the Ring, too, but it had always seemed that the elves were immune to its' sway.

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me but what lays, waiting for us, here," he continued. His eyes roved over the dense forest. Morning fog rolled softly through the trees, making it difficult to see even the woodland creatures flitting from branch to branch. _Listen to him, Aragorn,_ _Gwen willed the Ranger silently._ _If he thinks something is wrong, he's probably right._

But Aragorn dismissed Legolas' claims resolutely, insisting on the cover of darkness to move past the orcs that patrolled the eastern shore. Though she preferred to leave big decision-making to other, more knowledgeable people, Gwen knew he wasn't considering the obvious – the danger to them _now._ "Darkness didn't protect us from those archers, Aragorn," She murmured, but he didn't catch her words. Gwen sighed and laid down her pack, leaning Burningstar and her bow and quiver beside it. She collected large stones with which to make their nightly fire circle, placing them evenly side by side.

Gimli didn't seem too caught up with the idea of facing orcs. "It is not the enemy that bothers _me,_ _elen_ , but the landscape," he said. The dwarf waved a beefy fist towards the far shore, a lit pipe between his lips. Boromir's eyes were dark and hooded as he brought the first pile of kindling to her and set it down within her workspace. Merry and Pippin sat with Sam, taking stock of their rations and arguing over small bits and morsels, which made her smile to herself. Some things never changed.

Gimli waved his arms dramatically, some of his tobacco falling out of the long-stemmed pipe. He didn't notice, as he was too caught up in his conversation. "Past that cliff lays an impossible labyrinth of razor sharp rocks that will cut your wee toes to shreds," he exclaimed. "And then – it gets even better!" He was clearly being sarcastic. Gwen sat on her bedroll, arms around her knees, watching as Sam lit a fire expertly. She cocked her head to listen to the dwarf. "After that, there are unnatural marshlands that stretch as far as the eye can see! I've heard tell it is virtually impassible," he warned.

Gwen grimaced, thinking of the Midgewater Marshes, and Gimli nodded at her. "Grand journey, yes?" His bushy eyebrows moved with his words. Aragorn walked past them, his countenance serious. "That is our road, despite the danger, Master Gimli," he replied sternly. Gwen ignored the discussion that continued after that, rummaging through her bags for her books – gifts from the Lady Galadriel – and opened the first, empty pages of her journal. The smell of pressed parchment wafted up to her nostrils, making her smile. The fine leather cover was tooled in a delicate pattern of vine and starry flowers. In the center lay a green-dyed knot, intricately tied.

To her delight, a red _seregon_ flower was pressed inside the front cover, a silent message from the Lady. _You must grow where you can._ Gwen could almost hear the words in her mind. This unexpected surprise was delightful. She itched to start writing. _I wish I had a good pen._ Her skill with ink and quill hadn't gotten much practice since they had left Rivendell, but Gwen hadn't had terrible handwriting. She closed the journal before reaching for the second tome. It was old, but it had been lovingly and gently cared for, judging by its immaculately condition. The inside front cover carried the mark of Lord Celeborn. Feeling the warmth of the new fire on her skin, Gwen looked up, smiling.

She looked around the camp, happy to have her companions with her. Realizing Frodo and Boromir were not among them, worry shot through her. The hairs on the back of her head stood on end, and suspicion had her rising – not so calmly. She slipped her quiver across her shoulders and picked up Burningstar and her bow, saying she was going for a walk. Aragorn looked suspicious, but didn't rise to follow her. _I don't want to alarm anyone._ _Gwen wanted to be wrong in her suspicions, and it would do no one any good to make accusations without cause._ Even as she thought this, alarm bells were going off in her own head. She walked quickly, fanning out in search of the hobbit. _Boromir has shown himself to be drawn to the Ring. What if he's -_

She paused, hearing their voices faintly ahead. "Frodo?" He didn't answer, and she couldn't yet see him or Boromir, though she could hear them. Boromir sounded upset. Gwen's heart pounded, fear for her friends – _both_ of her friends – a living thing in her heart. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir cried, clearly growing angry; his voice was raised. _The ring!_ Gwen rushed towards their spot, using her hearing to guide her. Ancient stones littered the ground, making it hard to keep a solid footing.

"It should be mine!" he was snarling. "Give it to me!" Sounds of struggle pierced her to the core, and Gwen burst into the clearing with a shout. "Boromir!" she cried. "What are you doing? Get away from him!" The once-proud Gondorian was wrestling with the hobbit, trying to force the Ring from Frodo's hands. Her shouts startled him, and his grasp weakened long enough for Frodo to get away. To her horror, he disappeared entirely, and Gwen knew he had put on the Ring. Now the Ringwraiths would be able to track him clearly. The entire Fellowship would be overwhelmed by the orcs that would follow.

Groaning, Gwen started forward. "Frodo!" Boromir snarled, searching for the invisible hobbit, and it seemed to her that he had lost his mind. When the Gondorian lost all sense of where the hobbit was, Boromir turned to her, his eyes furious. Before she had time to react, he was on her more quickly than she could have anticipated. His body barreled into her like a linebacker, knocking her down and slinging her bow from her hand. Stars burst in front of Gwen's vision as her head struck a rock hidden within the dead leaves strewn across the ground, and a dull throb settled in the back of her skull.

Burningstar dug into her back but Boromir's bulky, armored form pinned her to the ground heavily, leaving her unable to breath deeply, much less defend herself. The man weighed a good ton. As she looked at him, Gwen knew he wasn't himself. The Gondorian was furious, and tense with livid hate. His eyes were hazy and dulled. "You bitch!" He snarled at her as his hands came up. "That Ring was going to be mine!" Fear exploded into her mind right along with the pain as he brought a massive fist down into her face. This is Boromir, she reminded herself. _Boromir, the proud son of Denethor of Gondor, and your friend!_

But it wasn't, not anymore. The kind eyes of her friend were gone, replaced with an unnatural hatred. The Ring's evil had taken hold of his mind at last, and where once his strong form had given her comfort and protection, his strength now was hurting her. His hands had moved to encircle her throat. _He was going to kill her!_ "Boromir!" She choked, calling out his name as she wheezed for breath, struggling to throw him off her. He was slowly killing her with his lung-crushing bulk, and there was no regret or care in his eyes at all. "It's me! Gwendolyn!" she cried, desperate to reach him. His eyes held only anger, and helpless tears streamed from her face, to no avail. He was lost to her.

Gwen filled her mind with his name and the kindness of his eyes, knowing he would come back to her eventually. _He has to, or I am dead. "You_ let him take it!" Boromir was snarling again, shaking her like a rag doll. When his fingers momentarily released the pressure on her throat, Gwen drew in as much air as she was able. "He will take it to Mordor and betray us all! Why did you do it? Why?" He shook her viciously, his hands fisting on her arms painfully, sure to leave bruises. He jerked her silly, causing her brain to rattle in her skull, before suddenly stopping entirely and hunching over her.

Her breath wheezed out of her as his hands relaxed entirely, and Gwen flopped back to the ground, weak and in shock. Her friend Boromir met her wet, streaming eyes, horror in his own. _Oh my god, thank you._ Tears of relief poured from her eyes, but he mistook them for ones of pain and suffering. Mouth agape, keening a low sound of distress, Boromir rolled away from her, and sweet precious air filled Gwen's lungs.

She sat up gingerly, pressing cold, shaking fingers to her head. They came away bloody; the rock had gashed it open, and a small trickle of blood was streaming from the wound. Boromir was still staring in horror at her, completely overcome by his actions against her. Clearly in shock himself, he stood up slowly, heavily, tears still dripping from his eyes. Gwen stumbled up, and reached for him, trying to comfort. "Boromir..." she began, but the words she sought fell away from her. _He could not control the Ring's hold over him._ Gwen wanted to tell him that, but he shied from her, evading her touch, and a wave of vertigo nearly sent her to her ass. She could feel the blood trickling through her hair as the seconds passed.

"Do not, Lady Gwendolyn," he groaned, barely able to look at her. "I..." Boromir's words trailed off. "I have dishonored you," he moaned, shoving his hands into his hair in distress, where they fisted. "And _Frodo.."_ His voice broke entirely on the hobbit's name, and he turned from her, looking crushed, to retrieve her bow from the ground. His entire demeanor was defeated. _What can I say to make it better?_ In her heart, though, Gwen knew there was nothing she could say or do to help him. She knew his sense of dignity – of honor – was wounded, maybe even broken beyond repair. Wordlessly he passed her the bow, and with his support they started back to camp.

 _Gwen's thoughts turned to their Ringbearer._ _Where is Frodo?_ She had not seen him since her intervention between he and Boromir, and that worried her greatly. Even as the thought emerged, sounds of battle reached their human ears and the sound of Pippin and Merry screaming at each other nearby. A new horror flooded Gwen when she recognized danger was close by. _Too_ close. Boromir was aware of the sounds before she was, and with a warrior's drive to protect and fight, he took off towards the sounds, leaving her to follow him hastily, trying desperately not to trip on rocks and roots as they flew over the hilly terrain. Her vision was blurred by the blood flowing into her eyes, and her head felt so heavy. _Don't pass out now, you weakling_ , she told herself. Surely Gwen was dead if she did.

Sooner than she expected, Gwen caught sight of the two hobbits running down the hillside, a wave of monstrous orcs chasing after them. On second glance, however, she realized they were not orcs at all. Horror suffused her marrow. _Those aren't orcs!_ _They were something far, far worse than orcs._ _Holy shit, they're huge!_

A white hand on each orc's helmet brought to mind a conversation she had had with Gandalf so long ago on the cold mountain of Caradhras, about another wizard. _Saruman sought to exceed the potential of the orcs as weapons. Through his dark crafts, he has crossed orcs with goblins, and their offspring are much larger than orcs and can travel at great distances._

These were those offspring, she was absolutely sure. Boromir sprang bravely right into the fray, using a stone bridge as his high ground, seeking to protect the hobbits from the enormous foes who seemed bent on killing them. He blew his horn strongly, calling the others to his position. Gwen stood a distance away, frantically shooting as many of the monstrous orcs as she could. Her vision was blurring slightly from the head wound she had sustained, and her fear made her hands shake. Both were affecting her aim. She only succeeded in killing two of them in the moments that ticked by, and wasted a good number of her arrows.

The stream of orcs over the hilltop seemed never-ending, and they seemed intent on the hobbits. _Where the fuck are Aragorn and the others? And Frodo!_ Frustrated with her lack of success with the bow, Gwen dropped it and unsheathed Burningstar, swinging it around to balance the blade in her hand. She ran wobbily toward Boromir, screaming at the hobbits to run. They were throwing rocks at the orcs, seeming to have forgotten their little blades altogether.

Gwen, seeing another wave coming from behind the hobbits, waved them frantically towards her, and shoved them in the drain under the bridge when they got to her. "Stay there!" she commanded hoarsely. They looked at her as if she was crazy, but did as she said.

Gwen shoved her sword into one of the advancing orcs, pulling it from black flesh viciously before swinging up to slice at its chest and neck, splattering her with black orc blood. It fell away from her, and another advanced in it's place. _Oh my Jesus, these creatures are huge!_ One blow from them and she would surely die. As it was, she only stood torso-high to the creatures. It took all of the weakened strength she had just to parry a single blow.

Fiercely, Gwen brought Burningstar down in as high an arc as she could manage, sending the blade clean through the orc's shoulder, severing its arm from its body with a wet _thwop_. She panted with the exertion of such a move. Boromir was huffing with exertion at her back, and knowing he needed a moment to breath, Gwen slipped around him to his front in his defense. Orcs swarmed them, and she hacked and jabbed at them almost blindly. Black patches were interrupting her vision, floating to and fro aimlessly and making her dizzy. Her head felt heavy, but she refused to faint – Gwen was needed now more than ever. She would not fail her friends again, as she had in Moria.

Almost by accident she turned her body into two orcs, intercepting a low blow across her legs – a sword stroke meant for the Gondorian – and pain instantly sliced her leg from buttock to mid thigh. She cried out in shock, and again as the pain deepened and burned hotter as the seconds ticked by. The black spots around her vision widened with the increasing pain. _Ah fuck! I'm going to pass out.._

She heard the hobbits cry out her name, and suddenly they were there around her, trying to pull her off the bridge with them. Gwen shoved them away weakly, her head feeling so heavy she could barely keep her footing against the force they exerted. Pain throbbed lowly and became her world.

Boromir's eyes were wild with battle rage as he shoved her behind him, and she could feel his movements as she leaned against his back, unable to see clearly or move at all. She sank down to her ass on the bridge, unable to keep herself upright any longer. Blood ran steadily from the gash in her thigh, and she was rapidly loosing all vision. _Fuck, I'm going to pass out._ _Her brain couldn't seem to process anything else, and s_ he kept repeating herself, seemingly unable to catch up with what was happening around her.

Gwen _felt_ the moment Boromir was hit with the arrow, and the way his body jerked with shock. A heartbeat later her brain processed the _thwack_ of the shaft hitting him. He froze, and fell slowly to his knees, sending Gwen to the ground completely. Weak, she was unable to find the will to move even as she cried out. White hot pain lanced through her as her leg hit the ground, and she struggled against succumbing to unconsciousness.

Merry and Pippin cried out for Gwen and Boromir both, and raced to her side to grasp at her, trying to wake her up, not realizing she was still with them at all. To them, she looked all but dead. Gwen felt their hot tears as they cried over her. Though she could not see him, Gwen prayed the Gondorian warrior would be okay. Arrow wounds were dangerous, more so than blade wounds, because pierced flesh was harder to care for and cauterize if required to stave off infection.

Boromir valiantly continued to fight despite his wound, though his finesse was gone. He swung his sword at everything that got close, using the momentum of the blow to carry his body upward into a standing position time after time, even the pain would have otherwise kept him down and out of the fight.

Orcish grunts and pants filled the air around them, and Gwen could smell the stench of the creatures around her. She gagged helplessly, but her body, it seemed, had endured too much and she all but succumbed to the pain-free darkness that beckoned so clearly. The hobbits could only watch in horror as Boromir took another arrow to the stomach, tears tracking their faces and their hands clinging to Gwen's clothing as she lay so peacefully and still that she seemed dead. The hobbits struggled weakly against the single-minded beasts when they reached down to haul them up and away from Gwen and a fallen Boromir.

Gwen was only just aware of the hobbits screaming out her and Boromir's names, and being carried away from where she lay. It wasn't enough to call her away from the edge of blankness, however. Darkness swamped her vision, and she lost all awareness.

* * *

Gwen came awake with a gasp, pain filling her body as consciousness returned her to the present. Light and stabbing pain swamped her and she groaned weakly, stomach heaving in rebellion as she tried to move. _Where am I? What happened to me?_ For a moment Gwen was confused, and then the battle came rushing back to her. Merry and Pippin's faces swam before her mind's eye, then Boromir's. "Oh God," she moaned softly into the leaves, trying to find the will to get up. _He's been shot!_ _Gwen knew he had to be hurt even more severely than she was. Gasping, she_ looked around weakly, but her vision was milky and unclear. _I've got to find him. Please let him be okay!_

Panting, desperately trying to control her rising pain level, Gwen sat up, moaning and clutching her head against the deep throbbing that sent her into dry heaves. The snapping burn of the slice in her thigh was an afterthought in that moment. Unable to resist her stomach's demands, Gwen barely moved her head to the side before promptly tossing her cookies on the cold, damp leaves beneath her. They were black with orcish blood, she saw, and the taste of coppery blood in her mouth sent her heaving into heaves again and again. _Fuck._ Her cheek throbbed painfully with every jolt to her skull, and Gwen could feel that it was swollen and puffy. Instinctive tears tracked her face, and every movement sent pain through her body like electricity. _Oh shit..I can't do this right now,_ _she groaned internally._ _I have to find Boromir!_

Gwen had always thought she had a high tolerance for pain, but she was ill equipped to deal with this level of misery. When her stomach finally settled some and the greater part of her pain subsided, Gwen became aware of male voices murmuring close by. She swung her head, wincing when her head throbbed an acute protest, and gasped at what she could see. Aragorn sat over a wounded Boromir a short distance away, and they were speaking softly together. Gwen's first reaction was to feel relief that Aragorn was there with them – he could heal whatever was wrong with the Gondorian, she was sure. Her second reaction was shock and horror – Boromir had been shot, multiple times. _Boromir! Oh my god._ _Gwen could see the multiple black-fletched arrows in his body. Horror-struck at the sight, it galvanized her into trying_ to stand, and move toward the men, but got only as far as her knees before vertigo claimed her, and nausea rose in her gut again. _Fucking hell._ Gwen collapsed to her hands and knees, barely holding herself aloft. Her thigh, it seemed, wouldn't hold her weight any longer. She keened helplessly when a fireball of pain split her into pieces.

Aragorn raised his head in alarm at the sound she made, and saw her struggling. He rose swiftly from the Gondorian and quickly met her, kneeling at Gwen's side in concern. "Boromir," she choked out, a wave of dizziness overtaking her as Aragorn swept her into his arms, taking her quickly to Boromir's side. To her horror, the proud warrior lay with three arrows piercing his flesh. He cried out when he saw her in Aragorn's arms, and his wan, pasty face alarmed her. They were sitting together in a massive pool of blood. The stickiness of it should have made her sick. So much blood. As overwhelmed as she was, Gwen couldn't stop the tears that rose as Aragorn crouched beside the fallen man. Gwen rolled from Aragorn's arms heavily despite his protest, careful not to jostle the wounded man.

Boromir's pallor was very gray, and he was bloody from neck to hips. Even as her heart screamed a denial, Gwen knew he was on death's doorstep. _He cannot die!_ _She cried internally, screaming a denial._ _Not like this! Not now!_ " _Elen_..." he coughed weakly, clearly struggling to breath. Tears welled in her eyes and ran in rivulets down her face, her already swollen cheeks reddening further. " _Elen_ , I am sorry," he panted, trying to find the strength for words "...sorry for everything." Gwen shook her head, denying his words even as he spoke them. _No no no...this can't be happening,_ _she gasped internally, her mind in chaos._ _Not to Boromir, too!_

Her tears fell on his bloody tunic, wetting it quickly. "I tried to..." he panted, words breaking up between his breaths. "You and the hobbits..." he trailed away, looking distraught. His eyes were wild with grief. "But they _took_ them, and I _failed."_ He was gasping now with every word, his lungs struggling to do their work, and Gwen struggled to reach his face with shaking hands. "I failed you," he whimpered, his voice growing weaker and weaker. A mother of all headaches throbbed and made her want to die, too, with every movement. Blackness was closing in again around her vision, but she fiercely denied it. Internally, Gwen was shrieking, denying him the right to die.

"Don't you die on me, Boromir!" she cried weakly, struggling to reach him more firmly. "Don't you dare!" Her hands clasped his cheeks desperately, and they were both gasping in pain, then, her tears wet on his cheeks. He brought a hand up to her cheek with effort, and gently he wiped the tears from her swollen cheek, regret clear on his face. "So beautiful..." Gwen could see the light in his eyes fading out. "God damn it, Boromir!" She sobbed, shaking him, but he had gone still and quiet, his arm falling to his side. Gwen cried out, moaning a denial of his passing. Aragorn tried to pull her from his body, to clasp her to him, but she struck out at him, screaming, "No! God damn it." Gwen struggled weakly. "No! Boromir!" _He's dead!_

She was wailing it into the sky, her grief and pain all consuming. Her head pounded, and she would gladly have allowed someone to knock her out, but her vision had cleared completely in those moments. She could see Boromir's still-warm form laying there in the sun, eyes open and frozen in death. He hadn't deserved this, Gwen raged inside. He was better than _this._ Aragorn stilled her struggles strongly, holding onto her desperately as tears fell in rivers from both their eyes. Gwen stared down into Boromir's death-slackened face, into his empty eyes. He had been her _friend_ , and he had died thinking himself dishonored. The injustice of it made Gwen sick. Legolas and Gimli found them then, and she barely registered Legolas coming to his knees beside her. She sobbed loudly into the forest, and the three companions shared in her grief.

* * *

 _Please review._


	31. The End of a Long Day

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty: The End of a Long Day**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

"You cannot be serious!" Gwen stuttered out, gaping up at the man above her in shock. Aragorn stared down at her from his vantage point, arms crossed, looking very serious indeed. Gwen was utterly aghast at the order that had come out of his mouth. Legolas and Gimli stood at his side, their countenances indicating that they, too, were with him on this issue.

"I am deadly serious, Gwendolyn," the Ranger ground out lowly. "Do not fight us on this matter. You _will not_ win." Gwen glared at him fiercely through her puffy eye despite the pain it sent down her face, and if looks could have struck a man dead, hers would have done it easily. "In your current condition, of course," he allowed gently, but it didn't soften her countenance at all. She just scowled more.

Gwen was in pain, mourning Boromir's death, and now, beyond pissed off. "You cannot expect me to just _allow_ three males," Gimli sputtered at her wording, so she backtracked with a heated look at the dwarf. "Excuse me," Gwen scowled, " _Two_ males to strip me bare and dump me in the river, even for the sake of cleanliness." Legolas looked out of sorts and rather embarrassed at the way she was speaking, as if they had suggested it for anything other than to help her. No one answered her. "You've lost your ever-loving minds!" she exploded. It lacked something with her sitting. Her leg throbbed and chaffed against her breeches, but Gwen would never admit that to them, not after this little bit of news. "I'd rather die of blood poisoning than allow that," she declared stubbornly.

Aragorn stared stonily at her, growing impatient with her, and Gimli scowled fiercely at her words. "Don't you _dare_ speak like that, girl," he growled, affronted. "It would be the death of you, and _then_ where would we be?" Gwen couldn't bite her tongue quickly enough. "Not having to deal with me, that's for sure," she bit out acidly, crossing her arms stronily. "Now leave me alone already." Her head still hurt, and all she wanted was peace and quiet, for five little minutes.

Legolas looked disgusted, then, and Gwen felt a vague sense of shame at her behavior as she looked at him. It seemed she had lost all control over herself, really. The stress of today had been too much. The elf crouched down beside her, as fluid as a jungle cat, his eyes hot with anger for the first time as he looked at her.

"For shame, you brat," he said coldly, unknowingly switching from the Common Tongue to Sindarin as he spoke. "Boromir lays cold in death from defending you, and you would throw away his sacrifice as if it were nothing?" Legolas did not spare her from the brunt of his anger, meeting her bruised eyes with his own infuriated ones. At once deeply emotional, Gwen found she couldn't meet his probing gaze, and she brought her hands to her face with a sob, fairly stuffing her fist in her mouth to muffle the cries. Not two hours past, she had been placed on ground near their campfire with Gimli to watch over her as Aragorn and Legolas retrieved Boromir's body from the woods. He lay only a short ways from her, so still and cold it hurt even to look at him. She couldn't take any more today – nothing more. Gwen knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Her eyes welled every time she looked at the stiff body of the honorable man she'd known. She couldn't get his broad, handsome smile from her memory. _I can't believe he's gone. He was a good man, and now he's gone!_

Legolas' anger seemed to bleed away in a short span, and he changed tactics, trying to reason with her. He knelt at her side, trying to comfort her with his closeness. "You are covered in blood, _elen_ ," he murmured softly, bringing a hand up to her blackened, crusty scalp gently. Gwen shuddered with sobs, and Legolas could see a sheen of desperation in her eyes under the pain she felt.

"We have no way of telling the extent of your injuries if you do not bathe, _elen_ ," he continued rationally, speaking to her with a calm, gentle voice, all traces of anger gone. "And you can barely walk right now, with your breeches stuck to your leg as they are. You will need us to help you while Gimli prepares Boromir for..." He looked up at Aragorn, as if to ask him to confirm his words. "We do not seek to molest you in any way," he finished earnestly, and Gwen was ashamed that she had made them believe she thought they would ever do such a thing. This was Legolas and Aragorn – they would never hurt her in any way.

"Come now, be reasonable, lassie," Gimli crooned. "Surely you do not want to say your goodbyes to Boromir in such a state as this?" He waved a hand at her pitiful appearance. Her watery eyes met the dwarf's and she pulled back her lips in a snarl, "That's fucking dirty, Gimli, to bring him into this at all. This has nothing to do with him," she cried fiercely. He simply leaned on his long axe, unrepentant and as composed as ever, even if his face was paler, and his eyes were doggedly tired.

Her three friends only stared down at her, determined and serious about this. They were a wall of solidarity against her. Gwen sighed, knowing she was defeated. "Oh for Christ sakes! Fine!" She muttered on about _fucking persistent assholes_ while Legolas bent to pick her up with his elven strength. Gwen didn't fight him, and he lifted her as if she was feather-light.

He cradled her gently, making sure to use her back and knees for leverage and not her thighs or neck. Still, every movement was painful and made her wince. Aragorn grabbed Gwen's pack and they headed off down the sandy beach, towards a more private spot for which to strip her bare and discover her injuries.

They walked silently until they reached a small, shallow pool filled with brackish water streaming out serenely to empty in the river. Aragorn dropped her pack onto a flat rock before digging into it, pulling out items they would need. Legolas shifted her down into a standing position, but didn't allow her to take all of her weight on her leg. Knowing they were about to take the clothing from her body, Gwen felt very vulnerable and helpless. Trembling, she clung to her friend despite her even footing, unconsciously seeking comfort. He supported her effortlessly and without complaint.

"Do not overtax yourself, _elen,"_ _he murmured down into her hair._ "We do not know how severe your wounds are." She nodded, all the fight having fled from her, leaving her weary and bone sore. "I think my leg is swollen, guys," she said tiredly. It did look bigger, to her, and certainly it had that viscous feeling of fluid within the limb.

Ready now, Aragorn turned around and studied her critically. Her bruised, puffy face only served to highlight for him her youth and vulnerability, of which he was always aware, and it increased in both males feelings of protectiveness of her. In Aragorn's mind, a woman should never have had to endure what Gwen had endured today, and it made him very angry that she had. He should have never agreed to take her on this Valar-tested journey. Knowing it was too late for regrets, however, the Ranger set about his work with a tick in his cheek.

Without a word Aragorn unsheathed his knife, and Gwen tried to keep her mind in the present – she was having trouble reconciling all that had happened in the last hours, and her body was still in fight or flight mode. She couldn't control the tremors that shook her body violently in Legolas' arms, especially when Aragorn brought the knife to her body in preparation to cut her clothing.

"Sorry," Gwen muttered when she jerked visibly against the blade. Her teeth were chattering, and she had to spit the words out past a dry mouth. Aragorn shifted the knife away to come closer, and the two males sandwiched her body between theirs for warmth and comfort. "Do not apologize, _elen_ , this is only a sign that you have lost much blood," Legolas whispered in her ear as he cradled her close, and Aragorn nodded his agreement, pressing her head to his chest. Together they stood in this manner until her tremors calmed somewhat. "Relax," the Ranger ordered gently, "Let us care for you now."

Their awareness of her seemed to flee as they worked, reminding Gwen a lot of being in the hospital. Aragorn murmured to Legolas to lay her down on the forest floor so that they could remove her clothing more easily. Gwen could not stop the flush that crept up her body despite her lower-than-normal blood and temperature levels. _They're going to see everything, just like Boromir did. Oh god..this is so embarrassing._ Legolas busied himself removing her outer jerkin, deftly slicing through the leather when it became obvious it would not be coming off any other way. It fell away from her without hr having to move at all.

"The boots are salvageable," Aragorn intoned emotionlessly. _Good to know._ Gwen smiled stiffly, but it turned to a grimace as the boots slid off her feet. "Easy now, Gwen," he murmured softly down to her. Then, Aragorn was carefully slicing the breeches from her legs, starting at her feet and working his way up. Her pale, smooth legs were revealed inch by inch, and Gwen could tell he was careful not to rip the bloody, dried leather from her skin. She jumped when the cold metal of the knife touched the skin of her thighs. _Oh just rip the thing already._ _Gwen could scarcely stand the anticipation of pain._ This treatment was tortuous, truly.

It would surely take a layer of skin off if he did rip her breeches, however. Legolas was busy loosening her thickly plaited hair now, gently working the bloody strands of hair away from her scalp, every movement careful of the tresses matted with dirt and dried blood. Gwen just laid there, trying to pretend she was anywhere but in this situation with these two males. _Maybe if this was another life I might enjoy this kind of close attention, but this is just fucking weird for me._ Their ministrations, while gentle, were igniting a fireball of pain inside her that wasn't getting better, but worse.

"We will have to clean your hair before I can see the extent of the wound there," Legolas murmured near her ears, tracing the purple, bloody welt on the broad backside of her head. He spoke clinically, trying to keep her informed of their progress since she was not allowed to move. "How did you get this injury?" he asked. There was a note of distress in his voice. Gwen saw Aragorn look up from his careful work around her thighs, curious too, and so serious. The worst of the blood was on the back of her breeches, and he seemed to be having trouble removing them from the wound without tearing her flesh further.

"Turn her to the side, Legolas," the Ranger ordered. Aragorn, too, had gone into complete professional mode, and Gwen was glad for it – she really couldn't handle anyone else's emotions right now. She winced when the elf shifted her wordlessly upon command, and Gwen grew shaky and ill as acute, shuddering pain flooded her senses at the movemtn. Facing away from Legolas and Aragorn as she now was, it was easier to explain what had happened with Boromir. She was grateful they couldn't see her face as she relayed the events of the afternoon with them. "I found Boromir trying to take the Ring from Frodo just before the attack began," she explained softly. "He was completely possessed by its power, and he attacked me when I distracted him and Frodo was able to flee."

Gwen tried to put as little emotion into her words as was possible, knowing they would feed off of it unconsciously if she did. Legolas sucked in a breath, shocked, but that was the only sound either of them made. "He wasn't himself...at all," she murmured. "He tackled me to the ground and I hit my head on a rock during our struggle. It must have sliced my scalp. I know it throbs terribly," she said. Gwen had, in fact, a migraine brewing. She could feel Aragorn slowly working the blood-hardened breeches from her leg again and winced when the serrated skin pulled with his movements.

Aragorn did not look up from his work as he talked. "You are very lucky, _elen_ ," he admitted with a slant of his head. "Boromir is a mighty warrior, well known for his strength in battle. It is a miracle he didn't crush your skull when he hit you," he intoned, stoic and unemotional. His gaze flickered up to Gwen's briefly, where she could see his emotion swirling. There was no judgment in his voice, thankfully. The lump in her throat grew bigger, and she nodded, "I know. He looked so completely destroyed when the power of the Ring left him and he was sane again," she said, voice thickening with emotion as she spoke. Tears rose to blur her vision. "I wish he had never seen the bruises...before he died."

She brought a hand to her cheek, feeling the puffiness there. Her vision was reduced to a slit in that eye, and it took too much effort to see with it. Gwen tensed when she felt Legolas finish with her sticky, matted hair and begin to cut away her linen shirt. It, too, was bloody and stiff against her skin from where her head wound had bled down past her head.

"I, uh," Gwen stuttered, clearing her throat nervously. "I should probably warn you..I have many, uh, scars on my abdomen," she explained. Legolas paused as her words sank in, and his eyes met hers with something akin to disbelief. "They are from a morgul-blade, I guess," she explained. Her words were punctuated by Aragorn's gentle pulling on the leather of her breeches, along with her skin, and it completely distracted her for a moment. "You already know that, of course, Aragorn, but they are pretty bad. I just wanted to warn you." Gwen smiled wanly at the elf above her face.

A heartbeat later, Gwen cried out in pain when Aragorn pulled the last bit from her wound completely, baring her body from the hips down. The cold air on skin was miserable, but the white hot pain in her leg was worse. Legolas paused in his work to inspect the damage Aragorn had done. Of course, Gwen could not see anything but the ground her cheek was on, but she knew how it felt.

"Damn it," Aragorn swore, regret clear in his voice. To her, he said, "I am sorry, _elen_ , for causing you pain. I could not get them off without pulling open your wound again." He ignored her nakedness and pulled her legs apart slightly to ensure that he missed no other cuts. Gwen resisted the urge to clamp them shut, knowing that it would only cause her more pain. "You have one long gash from here," he poked a point just below her ass, "to here," he explained. _Thigh to knee. Shit._ "It is not a ragged wound, except where the blade left you at the knee," Aragorn continued. "And it may need stitches." The worry in his voice worried her. She felt Legolas pull her bloody shirt from her back and waist, and soon she was as bare as a babe in the woods. "I can't tell until it's cleaned fully," Aragorn finished, removing his hands from her at last.

She knew they could see the raised purple scars crisscrossing her sides, but they chose not to comment. Instead, Aragorn gently pulled her over again onto her back, while Legolas cradled her head in his hands. Gwen saw Aragorn's eyes scan her body, but there was no trace of emotion to be found there that she could read. "I am going to pick you up, now, _elen,_ while Legolas undresses," he told her calmly. It was the only warning she got, and she found herself – painfully – lifted into the Ranger's arms. _Undresses? Why?_

"We only have one tunic each, and it wouldn't do to get it wet." He whispered into her ear, and turned with her towards the water. He kept his eyes stoically on her face, and Gwen felt a bit of the tension leave her limbs. She could hear Legolas rustling out of his tunic. "The Witch-King will pay for his dark purposes against you, Gwen," Aragorn promised, looking seriously down at her face. He was solemn, his eyes deadly serious. He looked away from her for a moment, but when she didn't answer, his gray eyes met her green, and Gwen nodded slightly.

 _"I want to believe that."_ She whispered it in Sindarin, giving away more information that she realized, and Aragorn's face tightened only marginally. His features gave nothing away. Legolas came into her sight, then, and she could see he wore only his breeches. His chest was lean and muscular, and his skin was pale. Aragorn handed her off to the elf as he bared his own chest, giving Legolas extra moments to cradle her to his bare, warm chest. "I will undress and we will get you clean," Aragorn promised from off to the side, as if to assure her they were almost done. Gwen nodded. She looked up into Legolas' face, feeling a hint of amusement at all the trouble they had gone to.

"This is utterly ridiculous, you know," she murmured. "I can stand." Legolas, his face tight and serious, only shook his head at her. "I will hold you," he replied. Despite the pain it sent down her face, Gwen smiled up at him, and he looked at her ever more seriously. She understood what his problem was. "Lighten up, Legolas," she mock-chastised, wanting to see him smile at her. "I will live. Take the blessings where you can." Gwen paused when his face tightened marginally. "God knows there are precious few to be found today." She, of course, thought of Boromir lying dead on the river bank, and her chest tightened again. Legolas' clear blue-gray eyes took stock of her injuries before meeting her own bruised ones. "Forgive me, _elen_ , but I count it not as a blessing to see you so harmed, but an injustice." His eyes fell to the shiny patch of scar tissue below her breasts as if to accentuate his point.

"And you have been through much worse before," he said. "This is not a blessing for me, as you say it is." His eyes were hard and serious, and Gwen knew he didn't understand what she meant. She let it drop. _God, I'm tired._ Aragorn appeared in her line of sight again, similarly disrobed as Legolas was, and he took her back from the elf.

"Legolas will bath you," he explained, "for his hands have a more gentle touch than my own." He smiled at her only slightly, and Gwen could see it didn't reach his eyes. "The water will be very cold," Aragorn warned her. "I am sorry." He sloshed into the pool, letting her clumped hair stream into the water from where it dangled freely over his arm. He did not dunk her, but waited for Legolas to ease her head down to the water's edge to wet her hair.

The pond water turned black and pink by turns as he gently worked the oil through her tresses and squeezed away the blood. Gwen was surprised the oil didn't burn her torn scalp, but she attributed this pleasant discovery to yet another wonder of the elves. Legolas rinsed her hair and scalp many times, until he deemed her hair clean. He turned next to her body, working the scrub she had kept all this time into such a lather, she thought he would cover her in bubbles. The two men worked in tandem, Aragorn turning and holding her upright as was necessary while Legolas gently cleaned every inch of her body.

It made Gwen feel like a child, and a disabled one at that, but neither elf nor man would allow her to support her own weight. At long last, Legolas declared her clean and waded from the pool to spread out her towel. Aragorn dunked her one full time in the icy water to rid her of soap before following, placing her as gently as he was able on the cloth. Legolas retrieved her clean linen shirt. He would have helped her into it, but Gwen drew the line at being dressed, and swatted his hand away.

Feeling somewhat better with a shirt to cover her breasts and torso, Gwen toweled her hair at the roots before allowing Legolas to inspect the gash on her head. "It will not need stitches," he declared, and she sighed in relief. "It isn't bleeding anymore, thankfully, but I will apply a little balm to it before I braid your hair." Gwen nodded, and rolled onto her stomach at Aragorn's request, baring her ass to the two men.

Gwen blushed, but didn't comment. _What could I say? "Hey boys, don't look at my ass?" They are only trying to help, after all._ She felt Aragorn poke at her leg and winced. "The bleeding has slowed some, but I am afraid movement will reopen the wound. It is deep, but we have no way of stitching it here." Legolas applied the balm to her scalp as Aragorn spoke, and it tingled. "Just bind it..we can figure something out later," Gwen offered. "I'm tired of being naked," she joked. No one laughed, though Legolas' eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. Aragorn applied a liberal amount of the balm to her thigh, and the pain melted from her leg as he bound the wound snugly with the gauze Gwen had carried from Rivendell. _I guess it's a good thing I had it._ It was the first time it had truly been used.

When Aragorn had tied off the bandage securely at last, the two males helped her stand gingerly on her feet. Legolas supported her weight while Aragorn held out her spare pair of breeches. Gwen stepped into them with a sigh, so grateful to be clothed again. The pants were snug around her wounded, slightly swollen leg, but she felt much better now that she was clean and dressed.

 _Thank God that's over._

* * *

They returned to camp to find Gimli placing Boromir's sword and shield within his funeral byre, laying the blade between his hands and shield at his feet. The Gondorian lay peacefully and, remarkably, was clean. Just looking at him made tears rise in Gwen's eyes again. What could she say to such a man as he, who she knew to be both brave and honorable, and yet to know he had fallen so far under the spell of the Ring?

Gimli's face was swollen and red, indicating obviously that he had been crying, and impatiently Gwen forced Legolas to put her down so that she could bring the dwarf into her arms. They stood together, Gwen a little unsteady but not in pain, while Gimli let her comfort him awkwardly. Gwen knew he was not used to being embraced. She rubbed the stout dwarf's back, knowing that handling their friend's remains had to have been difficult for him. _It would have been utterly impossible for me._

The four friends stood at the foot of Boromir's boat, watching silently as the sky reddened with sunset and as the river rocked the byre gently. Gwen, too much a product of her own time and place, couldn't _not_ speak for the man she had grown to care about as a brother, even as the silence lingered appropriately around them. For long moments, the only sounds that could be heard were the roar of the falls and the twitter of birds returning to the trees.

"He was a man of honor in life, and he is so even in death," Gwen began. She studied his handsome face. "I will never forget your courage, nor your kindness to me, Boromir." _A good man will marry you despite your scars._ She practically heard his voice in her mind, saying those very words to her with such care in his eyes. "He was a good man," she whispered into the wind, as if to implore whatever God listened that he deserved a place in heaven.

A tear fell down her cheek, going unnoticed as the sky continued to dim. Gimli's low voice rumbled out: "I don't think we could have said it better, little girl. That will do." He patted her hand awkwardly. Legolas and Aragorn stood silently for a moment more, as if they could not stand to do what came next, and Gwen was at once aware of the roaring of the falls nearby. Finally, Aragorn untied Boromir's boat from the shore and gave it a gentle push. It caught on the currents of the Anduin quickly, and the four of them watched silently, together, as the boat disappeared down the bend of the river and out of their sight.

* * *

 _Please review._


	32. Chasing the Wind

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-One: Chasing the Wind**

 **By: Sherrywine**

* * *

Gwen was getting really tired of Aragorn's high-handed ways.

"No, I will not let you two trade me off like a sack of potatoes," she insisted sternly. "I can walk on my own." The Ranger-slash-future-king looked across the pit of ashes, clearly exasperated by her stubbornness. "Valar, save me from all women," he muttered under his breath, scuffing a toe of one boot across the soft, thin dirt under his feet. He had been arguing with her for the last half hour, and she was no closer to acquiescing now to his demands than she was at the start of their argument. Legolas looked up from repairing his arrows, his eyes crinkling in faint humor as he looked between the two humans, who were, in his mind, equally stubborn.

Gimli sat across from Gwen, eating the last of their jerky, having said that the _lembas_ bread was not filling enough for him. Perhaps it wasn't, but she hated to see it go. Having seen the hobbits down three and four squares of the stuff and still be hungry, Gwen, at least, could believe his claim. She and Aragorn, however, had already nibbled on a small piece each and were full.

Aragorn resumed cleaning his sword, growling at her. _Did he just_ growl _at me?_ Gwen wasn't sure whether to laugh or be angry. She settled for laughing, and as Gwen giggled at his expression, he smirked despite himself. "You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met!" He grumbled, waving his whetstone, with which he would use to sharpen his blade, rather dramatically to emphasize is point, eyes blazing. "You _cannot_ run at the speed we will need to catch up to Merry and Pippin, and you cannot stay here, so you must be carried or left behind," Aragorn surmised. "It is really very simple."

He stared at her for a long moment, as if to say, _I don't want to HAVE to leave you behind, girl._ Gwen shook her head, still not liking the idea of being carried for God knew how long. Aragorn, however, seemed resolute in his decision. "Legolas is the best one to do this," he said. "You will do as I say and that is that." Gruffly he stood and sheathed his sword before bending to stow away his tools. Gwen looked pleadingly at Legolas, but he only looked at her neutrally, unwilling to come between them. Night was falling swiftly, and Aragorn was eager to be going.

"Oh, is that what you think?" Gwen deliberately looked amused, knowing that she would in the end do as he told her. _Just not willingly, in this case._ She sighed, finally getting to the root of her disquiet. "I just don't like leaving Frodo and Sam by themselves out there. I feel like we should follow them," Gwen admitted. Of course that would leave Merry and Pippin to their fate, which was not something she wanted either. Legolas placed his arrows away and stood to join Aragorn as well. They were preparing to leave, and Gwen was no closer to feeling better about _their_ choice. "It's not any easier for me, either," Aragorn sighed lowly. His eyes trailed the eastern shore, where the hobbits had left them. "But Frodo is beyond us now, and we cannot abandon Merry and Pippin to torture and death. The quest has already failed!" He looked disgusted with himself. "I refuse to believe that we have failed the others as well. So what you'd have me do?" He asked demandingly, turning blazing eyes on the slight girl who he had watched grow into a little warrior over the last months, not angry at her so much as at her apparent inability to submit to his will. Chastened by his harsh words, Gwen shook her head in denial, unable to give another solution than the one Aragorn had already determined.

"Then we go," Aragorn confirmed.

Gwen sighed as he motioned between she and Legolas with a hand resolutely. "Legolas, pick her up. We make for Rohan." He didn't wait for them, instead turning and taking off for the trees, heading west. Gimli rose and smoothly sheathed his axe, eyes already to the west himself. _They were leaving Frodo and Sam behind!_ It just didn't sit well with her. The dwarf looked down at her sympathetically, understanding for her mindset in his hairy face. "I know 'tis hard for you, girl, but there really is no choice now," the dwarf said regretfully. He followed Aragorn swiftly, leaving Gwen alone with Legolas. The elf smiled down at her gently, waiting for her permission to take her into his arms.

Gwen sighed, lifting her arms for his embrace. "Fine, let's go already," she acquiesced. "They're leaving us behind." Legolas' eyes crinkled at the edges as he bent and picked her up, holding her to him bridal style. Gwen looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry you have to do this, Legolas," she said. The elf smiled widely then, genuinely, before settling her into his arms more comfortably. He ascended the craggy hill, running after his two companions due west. She was amazed when she did not jostle or jiggle even a little. Gwen shared her incredulity with the elf, who smiled. "You are lighter than a feather, _elen_. It is little worry for me to carry you. Relax."

She gained new respect for the physical prowess of elves as he ran swiftly, easily catching up to and falling in behind Aragorn and Gimli. He never fell behind, either. Legolas had a lighter step than most, and his gait was smooth and comforting, even over rough terrain. _I could fall asleep like this._ The thought crossed her mind even as her eyes were drooping with weariness. Her head hurt, and it occurred to her that she may have a concussion. There was little she could do about it now, either way.

The three of them: man, elf, and dwarf, ran for many hours, and Legolas showed little sign of tiring even after a full day. How even the elf managed it, Gwen did not know. "Elves are ridiculous," she muttered rather enviously, having woken to Legolas fairly _prancing_ over rocks and crags of the flattening landscape without jostling her a bit. In truth, she respected the elf greatly for his excellent carriage and form.

In the dark of night, the four of them remained close together, and every so often Aragorn would stop to ensure they were on the right path. They were not pursued by any enemy she knew, thankfully, and Gwen found herself dozing more often that was safe. When the new-day sun finally rose at their backs, Gwen saw the landscape had changed from craggy hills and tree-dotted slopes. All around them lay wide, open flatland dotted with craggy, gently sloping hills, as dry and bare as a tree in winter. In spring it would be a grassland. "Where are we?" Gwen murmured the question even as she nuzzled her pillow unthinkingly. "Rohan, _elen_ , home of the great Horse-Lords," Legolas panted, clearly working through his exertion, and Gwen resolved not to speak to him, as speaking would be another burden on him as he ran. _Rohan._ What did she know of this place? Nothing at all, as she thought about it. _Home of the Horse-Lords._ How many times had she heard that phrase? Too many to count. She turned this fact about the land over in her mind, and surmised that the men and women here were probably human, and good with horses. Dwarves and hobbits had no interest in horses, and elves were scarce in Middle Earth, judging by the small clusters they formed, like those in the Golden Wood.

Curiously, Gwen lifted her head from Legolas' shoulder to observe the land around her. It certainly had a rugged quality to it. Clumps of hardy trees lay bare in patches across the land for as far as she could see. The dormant, dry grass was wheat colored, but Gwen could picture the same area in spring, how the trees would be lush with green, and the grass tall and touched with color. _Surely this land is beautiful, though it seems bare to me now._ She wondered what sorts of animals called the plains their home.

The flat land allowed a gusty breeze sweep straight to them as well, she discovered, and these occasional gusts were chilly. The males continued to run throughout the day, with no sign of Merry and Pippin or the uruk-hai who had carried them away to be seen even on the horizon. Gwen wondered if they were making any progress at all. Aragorn kept them going at a hard pace regardless, and as they ran over flat land hour after hour, it seemed he had no intentions of stopping for food, sleep, or even pee breaks. Luckily for her, Legolas was able to stop long enough for her to do that bit of business every few hours, and they always quickly caught back up to the Ranger.

"How in the hell is he doing it?" Gwen asked, amazed. Legolas knew she was talking about Aragorn and the ceaseless running he had done. She had known no human who could do what he was without a break. "He has old, powerful blood in him, _elen,_ " Legolas replied with a deep breath. Even he was having to concentrate on breathing now, to avoid muscle cramps, but his smile warmed her every time she looked up at him. Gwen was so grateful he was able to do this for her, now that so much time had passed without their stopping. _I would never have been able to keep this pace had I been able to run. Never._ The trio would have been forced to leave her behind on the plains, and the thought of dying in such a way haunted her on a visceral level.

Unfortunately, the salve that had so wonderfully numbed her wounded leg before was wearing off. Gwen's body was discovering a new level of pain as they trekked across the crags and plains that afternoon, and despite Legolas' determination to be gentle with her, every movement had Gwen forcing back pained cries, and soon even the slightest touch sent fire into her veins. _Something isn't right. It shouldn't hurt this much._ Her head throbbed lowly and continuously now as well, though the dull throbs abated some when she rested her head against Legolas' shoulder.

Her face was no longer numb, either. In fact, though puffiness around her eye had reduced greatly, it was very sore to the touch, and Gwen could _just_ see the myriad of purple bruises marring the skin of her cheeks if she looked hard enough with the periphery of her vision. Gwen had a feeling she looked as if she had been in a bar-room brawl. Legolas never let on that anything at all was amiss with her appearance.

 _Which I suppose in a way, I have been in a brawl._ At the time she had not see it that way, but her scuffle with Boromir amounted to fisticuffs. More hours passed, and Gwen dozed under the waning sun, scarcely able to believe the many hours that had passed since they had left the shores of the Anduin behind. _And Boromir. And Frodo and Sam._ Thoughts of her friends made a lump rise in Gwen's throat. Between bouts of pain, she slept, through the night and into the next morning, though she was awakened as Legolas came to an abrupt stop behind Aragorn, who was laying prone on the ground, ear pressed to a stone. _What is he doing?_ "Their pace has quickened," the Ranger hissed, sounding distinctly unhappy about it.

"A Ranger trait?" she asked, curious about what he was doing. When no one answered her query, Gwen realized she had being _thinking_ the question. The world spun a little for Gwen as her head swam deliriously. She was vaguely aware of things not being quite right with her, but she was feeling less pain so she would take it. _All that matters is finding Merry and Pippin before it's too late._

Aragorn rose and sprinted down the rocky hill, leaving Gimli and Legolas to continue as they could. Legolas took her to pee and do her business quickly before they were off again, grasping at her arm in concern when she swayed on her feet. Thankfully, they quickly caught up to Gimli, who seemed to be flagging a little. He huffed and puffed almost comically as Legolas passed him with Gwen in his arms, and she cheerily waved, taunting the dwarf playfully without truly meaning to.

Gimli growled and quickened his steps, though it looked difficult for him. his poor face was redder than her mother's tomatoes. "You just wait until you're better, girl!" He puffed out the warning, sprinting just behind the elf. "I'll lay you out on your backside for that one, wench." He growled it as he passed them, clearly proving a point. Gwen just puffed out her cheeks and blew a raspberry cheekily as Legolas took her out of his range within moments of his exertion.

Legolas' eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. "You should not taunt him," he chided solemnly. Gwen looked guilty for a moment before shrugging. "I've got to do something to pass the time, Legolas," she said, slurring her words slightly. Legolas watched her with concern, nothing the rising color in _her_ face. "You guys are the ones doing all the work," she finished. Legolas flashed a smile down at her, looking ahead to Aragorn. "All right, then, _elen._ Sindarin practice."

Gwen perked up at the idea, but Legolas stopped her with a warning. "I will not be able to respond much, _elen,_ " he breathed heavily as he sprinted. "But talk to me, nonetheless." And so she began to hold a one-way, slowly-paced conversation with him in Sindarin. She told him about her childhood picking grapes at her uncle's winery, and how he had shown her how to squish the juicy fruit with her feet to make berry juice, that would go into making wine. Then, he would show her how to add the sugars and to let it ferment before bottling.

His eyes crinkled as she told him how no matter how old she got, wine would always be berry juice to her, because of her uncle. She told him of her many years spent in school, and how much of a troublemaker she had been. Legolas had been forced to wheeze on a laugh that bubbled up as she described how she would prank her fellow classmates to distraction, and how she had had her first kiss while swinging on the swing set at her elementary school.

If Gwen thought of it, she told Legolas. Sometimes she didn't know the proper word, so she said it in Westron, but he didn't correct her as he normally would, which she figured was due to the fact he was running so hard. She felt sluggish, a little tipsy, yet Gwen had had no alcohol. And she was hungry. During one bathroom stop, Legolas handed her a square of _lembas_ wordlessly, but she found her stomach rebelled strangely against the food, and they had been forced to stop again so that she could empty it. Gwen wasn't feeling well at all, and she missed Legolas' increasing concern for her.

He was growing tired – she could see it around his eyes.

"Does it seem to you that we are simply chasing the wind, Legolas?" Deliriously she waved a hand in the breeze. "There's been no sight of them in days," Gwen said with sudden clarity. "We don't even know if they are still alive." The thought made her chest tight and her face throb. Legolas picked her up, a troubled look in his eyes. He knew she spoke the truth. "Yes, that is true," he allowed. "But we cannot give up hope." The sun set behind them a short while later, leaving them in darkness. As was common at night, Aragorn slowed to stay together with the others.

During that night, between naps, Gwen could hear him muttering worriedly over her together with Legolas, and of him placing some bitter herb in her mouth. Gwen was only vaguely aware of Aragorn discovering one of the elven brooches given to them by the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and she had been too out of it to join in when all three males whooped with joy. They had tried to share the good news with her, but she could barely open her eyes.

She was glad for the sign of the hobbits' survival, but Gwen wanted only to sleep. She would be happier to see their sweet faces again, preferably when she wasn't sick out of her mind. Gwen went in and out of delirium in this way, at many times mumbling incoherently, and yet managing moments of clarity in random hours. During one dizzying nap, Gwen dreamed terrible dreams, of screaming, burning hobbits, and of a dying Boromir. Her dream self tried to save them, but the heat of the fire consuming them always blew her back. She woke to Legolas shaking her and calling to her softly, and to her limbs trembling and her body sweating.

 _Well that was new...what the hell? "_ I'm alright," she murmured against his shoulder weakly. But she wasn't. Gwen was exhausted, and she hadn't moved an inch. On their third day of traveling across the plains of Rohan, the sun rose red and bloody, and Legolas seemed worried at the sight. "Blood has been spilled this night," he declared ominously. Gwen thought it was only superstition at work, but she kept her mouth closed as they passed a rocky hill, and stopped. Her breath caught at the sweeping majesty of the plains before them. To the northeast, a thick tower of smoke belched and spewed darkness into the air, and Gwen's heart hammered at the sight. Head throbbing, she recalled Legolas' words. _Blood_ has _been spilled this night._

The sound of horses hooves met her ears, a low and throbbing rumble across the ground. Aragorn bade them to hide with an air of urgency, and they took shelter behind a boulder, hastily. Mere moments after Gimli leaped behind the rock with them, a company of horsemen rode past, oblivious to their presence. They passed Gwen's hiding spot very quickly, but, to her horror, Aragorn strode out, back into view and called out to them. "What the hell are you doing, Aragorn," she hissed loudly, but he did not respond. Legolas and Gimli flanked him as the riders turned, and Gwen's heart jumped into her throat at the sight of so many horses coming towards her.

For the first time in a day, she was able to push her dizziness and headache back and focus on what was going on. They were in danger, thanks to Aragorn. "Put me down, Legolas," she hissed. "I want to be able to get to Burningstar, or my bow, if we need them." Legolas looked worriedly down at her, but did as she asked after a moment's hesitation. Gwen settled most of her weight on her good leg and tried to forget about her bruised face or aching body.

"These men are riders of the Riddermark, _elen._ They are not our enemies," he reminded her. She glanced at him from the side, and the look was decidedly derisive. She remembered how the elves of the Golden Wood had treated them at first, and they were supposedly not their enemies, either. "That doesn't mean they won't treat us like we are," she spat nastily, fully prepared to go out kicking if necessary.

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 _Yay! Éomer appears at last in the next chapter! (FYI: If I was to break my work down into parts, this would be the end of Part One) *Does a happy dance.*_

 _Please review._


	33. Horse Lords

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _You may find more and more AU events taking place from here on than in previous chapters – the flow will still follow the events set down by J.R.R Tolkien, but I expect to add in quite a bit 'extra' from this point._ _Also, the time line I've been following to this point may be a little altered as well. Not overly much, but some readers may dislike it._

 _Many thanks to all my readers – you guys rock! Keep the reviews coming!_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Two: Horse Lords**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _February 29th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen stood on shaky, weak legs, watching as the giant horses of all colors approached them, feeling no small amount of apprehension. As weak as she was, her knees shook with the effort it took to stand upright in place. Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas must have been aware of her feeble condition, because they closed ranks around her battered form as the riders encircled them. The big males moved threateningly around them, wielding all manner of weapons toward them. They moved with a curious synchrony, tightening ranks around Gwen and her friends easily, so that there was scarcely room to shift. Even more dismaying, there was not a friendly face to be found among the riders. Gwen's head throbbed lowly, and sweat dripped down from her face as her stomach rolled. She was feeling sick and the urge to sleep was so strong, but Gwen had no desire to leave Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to this new dangerous-looking threat.

The riders came to a halt around the four weary, filthy companions, looking surprisingly fearsome astride their monstrous beasts. She could see now that these males were, in fact, human, and filthy ones at that. Their eyes were cold and flinty, and though Gwen resisted the motion, their unfriendly gazes made her tremble. One horse close to her head snapped its' teeth at her viciously. Standing at over eight hands above her head, these massively-built animals had, it seemed, one purpose: war.

As frightening as it was to be surrounded by so many large creatures, it was quite a bit more scary to be pushed in tight by their riders. Gwen could easily see why these Rohan men were called horse lords _._ For one thing, they were all singularly enormous men, bringing to mind that they must selectively breed their men for war as they seemed to do their horses. The silly thought had Gwen snorting in derision. _Snap out of it, Gwen! A_ thigh next to her shoulder was as big around as she was, she noted with fascination.

Gwen had to crane her neck to get a good look at these men, and the ruthless angle made her head pound unmercifully. She made a small sound of protest when she found many spears inches from her face. Clearly these men had the Middle Earth equivalent of a trigger finger, too. Gwen shot Legolas a withering look. _Not enemies, my ass._ Uneasiness followed by a strong sense of dread filled her. Would these horse lords take them for enemies as the elves had done? Legolas too, seemed disturbed by the behavior these men were exhibiting, but he didn't draw his weapon, choosing instead to remain watchful. Only his calm kept her from drawing Burningstar, for as much good as it might have done her in her half-delirious state.

Aragorn remained as cool as the riders' mounts shifted and snorted, raising his hands to signal that he was no threat. No one, not even Gimli, made any sudden movements. Still, no one seemed ready to back down from the threat they posed, making Gwen wonder what they saw in four exhausted travelers. After several pounding heartbeats, a single rider, more broad of shoulder and long of leg than the rest, broke through the ranks that had closed so tightly around them to shove himself into their meager space hostilely. His mount was close – too close for her comfort. It thankfully did not attempt to bite any of them.

Startled by this warrior's sudden movement, Gwen stumbled back instinctively, sending a bolt of pain from her wounded leg up her spine. She hissed through the pain as Gimli caught her feeble form and righted her balance. Eyes watering, Gwen stared up at the man who had caught her off guard. Though much of his features were covered by his armor, the clash of his fierce gaze with hers renewed her trembles.

He wore a plate helm hammered from silver and gold and detailed intricately in the shape of – what else – a horse, and a thick plume of horsehair waved around his face from the top. The nose guard of his helm was the horse's head, and increased the sharpely aquiline look of his features. Many days worth of beard growth lined his face, and beneath his helm she could even see his hair was long, growing in clumps around his shoulders. Disturbingly, he carried a long, sharp pike in his broad palm, and it looked to Gwen as if he knew how to wield it. His wary, keen eyes darted back to Aragorn after a heartbeat upon her, and she grew distracted by the way he spoke to Aragorn harshly.

"Why do you walk these lands?" He spat angrily, shoving his mount even closer to Aragorn threateningly. "Speak quickly," he snarled. "Before I cut your throats." His words made Gwen's heart speed up. _Woah, he's a little too ready to spill blood._ The man looked all too eager to carry out his threat and be done with them. At the thought of more violence, Gwen's head spun and her leg wobbled under the strain of her weight. _Get it together, Gwen. These guys could attack at any time._ This man clearly could not be trusted to act rationally.

She couldn't help but stare at him, though. Some instinct within her said that to take her eyes away from him would be a mistake, much like it would be a mistake to take one's eyes away from a lion on the prowl. His eyes darted back to her face as if he sensed her eyes upon him, and when they connected with her sickly, glazed ones, they narrowed fractionally, making the man look even fiercer than he already did. This man, her instincts screamed, was not to be crossed. Gwen looked away, unable to bear the heaviness of his eyes on hers.

Gimli made a wisecrack comment, electrifying the already tense air, and Gwen wanted to clasp her hand over his mouth, horrified by this brash words he had uttered. She winced at his unthinking words, gaze darting around to assess their affect. The horses tamped the ground impatiently, and Gwen wondered if they reflected their riders' moods. The leader, especially, did not seem amused by the dwarf. _This man is not stable, and Gimli's going to get us killed!_

Finally, as if to break the tension, the leader dismounted from his massive horse and stepped towards them menacingly, moving far too closely to her for Gwen's comfort. Up on the horse, he looked larger than life, but down on the ground, he was positively massive, standing easily inches above Aragorn, whose height exceeded her own by a good foot at least. This man could not have been less than a foot and a half taller than she, and every inch of him was menacing, dangerous brawn Gwen knew he would not hesitate to use against them. The sinewy muscles of his arm flowed as he raised his weapon menacingly.

"I should cut off your head for that, dwarf," he growled, twisting his full mouth into a snarl as he stared down into Gimli's defiant face. The rider's taut body fairly thrummed with pent up aggression, and Gwen's heart leaped into her throat with dread at the threat he had uttered. _Why did Gimli have to provoke him?_ She had a strong feeling that, all the other horse men aside, they would have a hell of a time besting this man in combat in particularly. Just the sheer amount of him to take down would be a challenge. Gwen swayed weakly when Gimli and Legolas both shifted, leaving her suddenly unsupported.

Legolas, it seemed, had had enough of maintaining calm neutrality, and swiftly drew his bow in Gimli's defense, aiming it threateningly at the leader. In response, the mounted warriors closed even more tightly in on them, their sharp spears now very close. Gwen felt them poking into her back and sides. Her head throbbed viciously and black spots appeared in her field of vision. "Oh," she breathed, swaying ominously on her feet as she blinked. Gwen inhaled deeply, trying to force more air into her lungs so that her suddenly darkened sight would clear. The tension swirling around them was making her more ill than she already was.

 _She had to do something to stop this._

Gwen pushed past Aragorn unthinkingly, falling to the horse lord's feet in helpless supplication, gasping when pain shot up her leg at the movement. "No! Please!" she cried, desperate to avoid her friends coming to harm. All eyes swung toward her suddenly, where she lay crumpled on the ground in a bruised and battered heap. "Don't hurt them!" She begged. "There is no need for violence. We are not your enemies." Her voice broke as her stomach clenched in familiar rebellion, and Gwen knew things were about to get very ugly in this little circle. _Don't throw up, don't throw up._

Gwen certainly had the horse lords' attention, however. Even the leader's fiercely violent eyes were focused on her. She breathed through her nose a moment before leaning over and dry heaving, coughing and choking on the bile that rose from her gut. _Ah shit, I'm gonna throw up._ Gwen hated Aragorn in that moment for placing them in the middle of this crazy band of men where they could die any second at the whim of this bloodthirsty warrior. She had no desire to go to her grave feeling like this. Gwen knew she had to look utterly pathetic, as sick as she was on the grass, but she craned her neck to meet the giant horse lord's probing gaze anyway, desperate that this situation would not come to blows. The world spun as Aragorn pushed Legolas' bow down with a scowl, away from the leader. _Too much tension in the air._

It was making her sick, and her head throbbed worse than ever. "Please, do not hurt them," she croaked, uncaring that she no longer had the strength to keep her weight off her leg. White hot pain lanced up her body, but all she could do was tremble as her eyes plead their case. Tears mingled with her sweat to drip onto the dormant, dry grass. _I can't take any more death. No more._ _Gwen_ was determined to die before she allowed it. The fierceness of the giant rider's gaze softened only marginally under her eyes, but it hardened again as he looked to Aragorn.

"Why do you bring a woman with you?" he demanded. Gwen was happy to see his weapon lower marginally. The man was scowling, clearly angry and in her growing half-delirium she wanted to smooth out the groves the expression brought out in his face. All she could do was stare at him through blurry eyes. He was so intimidating in his armor and helm, she would never brave touching him, of course. To her surprise, he did not wait for Aragorn's reply, instead squatting smoothly in a single motion and lifting her weak form from the ground to a standing position. His casual, unthinking display of strength awed her, and Gwen could only gape.

Dizziness spun her head around at the movement, and she moaned aloud, trying not to throw up again. But she was grateful for the change in topic. _At least they aren't trying to kill each other right now._ Unable to stand on her own, Gwen leaned helplessly into the leader's embrace, feeling the raw, brawny strength of his chest and arms under her body. The rider's strong scent, together with his heavenly body heat, enveloped her immediately, musky and masculine. Her stomach was curiously soothed by the smell of him, and Gwen sighed in momentary relief as her stomach unclenched and relaxed. _He smells like cedar, and the horses._ _It was a pleasant smell._ _I'm delirious_ , Gwen thought, with a touch of humor, In reality, she was well on her way to unconsciousness. The blackness in her eyes was growing.

"Why have you hurt this woman so?" the warrior asked, his voice causing vibrations to echo into her skin. She is very ill." Gwen was surprised to hear concern laced in the leader's gruff tone. The man held her thankfully steady with his bruised, dirty hands. He was gentle with her, and careful of his grip on her arms. Gwen cracked an eye open to see him looking over her small form easily to stare Aragorn commandingly, scowl firmly etched on his face. Up close he didn't look as fearsome. "You scowl too much," she slurred slightly, and the giant glanced at her quizzically, as if he hadn't understood her words clearly. Once his choice words to Aragorn sank in fully, Gwen stared, agog, at the man's silver breastplate, very insulted. _I am not ill...I'm wounded. Big difference._

Unconsciously Gwen's hands found and grasped the man's roped forearms, touching them to give herself comfort. Aragorn answered from somewhere far away. "We have not harmed her," he was saying. "She was wounded in a skirmish several days ago, and has been growing sicker since. We entered these lands in pursuit of our friends, who were taken by uruk-hai in service to Saruman half a day ahead of us." Growing more ill feeling with each passing moment, Gwen weakly pushed away from the massive rider, but he barely registered her efforts. Instead, he released her on his own, and Aragorn caught her wobbling, unsteady form, taking her up into his arms automatically. She missed the other man's blisteringly strong heat, strangely. Gwen laid her head on his shoulder for comfort, feeling as ill as they claimed she was.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he motioned to himself as best he could with her in his arms before motioning to Gimli and Legolas as well. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm." He shifted Gwen's weight more fully into his arms effortlessly. Gwen noticed clearly that he did not introduce her as he had the others. "We are allies to your realm, and to Théoden, your King." The rider studied them critically for a moment, some of the hostility bleeding out of his features. He removed his helm, with a shake of his head. His gesture seemed to be the signal to his men, who raised their spears and backed off from them a little.

Gwen released a ragged breath of relief. She pushed at Aragorn's shoulder, whispering, "I'm okay now – my stomach is better. Let me down." Aragorn denied her with a shake of his head. "You are more ill than I thought," he said sternly. "You will stay where you are." It seemed he was back to telling he what to do again. The riders watched as Gwen growled and grasped the hand clutching her calves, twisting it away from her until he released her and her legs reached the ground.

Panting, and fighting a new wave of nausea, Gwen met Aragorn's angry, worried eyes. "Then I can be ill on my own two feet," she insisted stubbornly. "I've had enough of being carried." Instead of replying, Aragorn sent her a disapproving glance and kept a steadying hand on her arm before he turned his attention back to the leader of the horse riders, who was watching their byplay with curious eyes, interested and still wary of them. Finally, he offered them what sounded to Gwen to be an olive branch of sorts.

"Théoden King has been taken over by Saruman," he informed them brusquely. "He not longer recognizes friend from foe, and he is blind to even his own kin." His eyes grew somewhat melancholy before the innate fierceness of his features returned to mask it. Gwen was utterly fascinated by the play of that ferocity on his face, and she nearly gasped when his features were revealed as he removed his helm. His eyes, she had decided, were his most expressive feature, but his face was, as a whole, incredibly beautiful. "You say you have been tracking a band of uruks through the plains?" he asked, manner almost friendly. "My men and I slaughtered them in the night." He gestured to the thick plume of smoke still rising in the distance. _So that's what that is._

Gwen didn't know what to make of that news. On the one hand, it was good that the terrible creatures were dead, but what about the hobbits? It worried her that no one had mentioned the hobbits yet. The others seemed greatly concerned at this bit of news, and that, too, worried her. Almost more than anything. Aragorn's eyes widened in obvious distress at this news, and Gimli gasped out, "But did you see any hobbits? They are our friends!" All the previous smart-assery was gone from him in those moments. Aragorn added, "They would look like mere children to your eyes." He looked so hopeful Gwen wanted to cry. The rider, for his part, looked solemnly and thoughtfully at the males a moment, clearly searching his memory. His sharp gaze softened at their open desperation and concern. Finally he said,"We left none alive."

It seemed not to bother him in the slightest, but his eyes had lost their glinting, aggressive gleam. Gwen gasped when she realized what his words meant. _He's killed sweet Merry and Pippin? No!_ "We piled all the carcasses and burned them," he explained. Again, he motioned to the pillar of smoke in the distance, and again Gwen was reminded of Legolas' prediction for their day. _"_ _We saw no children," he added after a moment._

The rider met her rapidly tear-filled eyes, looking regretful, even sympathetic. His mouth was tight with displeasure. "I am sorry," he offered, eyes sliding away from her to Gimli, then Aragorn. Gwen couldn't believe it was true. _I refuse to believe they are gone. They could have escaped!_ _I saw them in the looking glass! They have to be alive..._ "Gone?" Gimli croaked, barely able to speak. Shock radiated through their company. Legolas drew them all close in his grief, and the contingent of riders looked on wordlessly. "They could have escaped..." Gwen whispered faintly, leaning back against her friends.

Aragorn met her determined gaze sadly, and the finality of his eyes made her angry. "You can't give up!" Her cry was loud and surprising. Aragorn nodded. "No, we can't," he murmured. The leader of the horse lords whistled shrilly, making her head throb deeply again. He called two riderless horses to him, passing Legolas and Aragorn the reins. Aragorn shifted Gwen to her feet as he accepted the rider's gift. "These horses lost their riders in our battle. Take them and go," he offered, "but return them to Edoras afterward. Do this as a token of your good faith, as it is mine that I give them to you now."

His amber-green gaze seemed to gravitate to hers as he spoke, but Gwen was too shaken to appreciate it. The warrior placed his helm back on his head and turned to remount his horse. Aragorn stopped him with a hand to the shoulder, "Our friend is very ill, as you have said," he began. Silence followed his words, and the leader's eyes swept back to her before settling again on Aragorn. Gwen knew he could see clearly that Aragorn's words were true. "Can you help her?" Aragorn asked. They looked together back at Gwen, being propped upright now by Legolas. She stared back at them, trying to look strong and uncaring but flagging greatly. _Maybe they have some medicine, or something._ Her thoughts were growing more and more jumbled as her last vestiges strength left her.

The rider nodded at last, swishing the tail of his helm with the motion. "My men and I ride for Edoras. She can be treated there." He remounted his enormous steed. Aragorn nodded, relief plain across his handsome features. "Thank you, friend. Thank you." He turned back to her and spoke somberly.

" _Elen_ , these men can take you to safety," he said, grasping her shoulders in his hands. "They will help you to get better." Gwen shook her head weakly, barely stirring against Legolas. "I want to stay with you," she rasped weakly. "I will be safe with you." Part of her feared these men, even if they had ended up helping them. They were too big and too dangerous-looking to comfort her. Gwen's voice was thready with weariness, though, proving to her companions that this was a necessary move. Aragorn touched her cheek affectionately, and his eyes darkened with concern. "No, elen, you will not be safe with us this time," he said gently. "You need proper care that we cannot give to you now." She lifted her head weakly, seeing the terrible worry and sadness on his face. "But I cannot leave you three alone," she whispered.

Legolas chuckled softly, trying to make her feel more at ease. "We will not be alone, _elen_ , for we will have each other." He looked down at Gimli, sharing his worry with the dwarf before meeting her teary eyes once more. "I will look after Gimli in your stead, though, don't you worry," the elf said with a touch of humor. The dwarf growled, but there was no heart behind it. "I need no one looking after me, do not listen to him, girl," he grumbled as he patted her shoulder. "You just concentrate on getting better," Gimli advised, motioning to the giant horse and its rider. "Now go on, and don't keep his majesty the horse lord waiting, " He stood back from her, and suddenly Aragorn was there again.

"You will find them? Promise me," Gwen's eyes matched the pleading in her voice. Knowing she meant Merry and Pippin, Aragorn hesitated only a moment before nodding. "We will find them. I promise you." _Dead or alive._ Gimli squeezed her hand, and Legolas' arms tightened around her momentarily before he released her into Aragorn's arms. As goodbyes went, she found this one to be relatively easy. _It's because I'm sick as a dog and as weak as a kitten._

Aragorn swept her up and off her feet again, and Gwen squinted as the sun shined brightly in her eyes as she laid her cheek on his shoulder. He brought her alongside a monstrous horse, and Gwen prayed for the thousandth time that it would not bite her. Aragorn kissed her forehead gently before passing her up to the rider who would carry her away. _The giant, crazy-eyed leader._ She barely managed the energy to aid Aragorn in lifting herself, groaning when her bandaged leg rubbed against the large belly of the beast beneath her. Gwen was suddenly enfolded by the warmth and strength of the man, for which she was grateful. _He smells so good._ She snuggled against him unconsciously. Her leg throbbed dully against the warm horseflesh of his steed.

Legolas passed another rider her pack wordlessly while Aragorn spoke softly to their leader. Finally, Aragorn's hand left her good thigh, saying, "Be sweet for them, _elen._ No stubbornness." Gwen opened her eyes slightly, a crack of a smile forming on her face. "I'm always sweet, Aragorn," she argued, but the humor left her face and was quickly replaced by weariness. Aragorn stared at her, trying not to worry about the small girl who had become his friend.

"Be well. We will see you in a few days time," he said, stepping away from them. Gwen was pulled strongly into the rider's embrace as the horse began to move underneath her. Consciousness faded quickly as her pain level increased. Her last thought was of Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn, and she mumbled a prayer that they would indeed find the hobbits alive and well.

It was the first time in a very long time that she was amongst strangers.

* * *

 _Please review._


	34. Haste

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Three: Haste**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

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He never should have agreed to take the girl with him.

Éomer leaned low into his horse's neck as he streaked across the wide sea of grassy plains, cursing his impulsive moment of compassion and weakness with every stride that passed. He sent the men of his éored through the Westfold without him, knowing that the Eorlingas herd-folk there would need the protection they could offer from the encroaching Dunlendings and uruk-hais. It had been a difficult decision, to leave them, but the young girl in his arms had taken a sudden, stark turn for the worse.

Hammalbrand, a rider of his éored skilled with healing, had given him a pouch of herbs to mix with water to stave off the sickness that clearly ravaged her body, but Éomer had been too afraid that even a moment's rest would place her closer to death itself. That fear – genuine fear for this girl's life – mocked him. He should be with his men, defending his lands against the malevolent forces that threatened to consume it, and yet he was forced to ride for _thrice-cursed_ Edoras in the name of a stranger. A sick, weak girl, even, one who meant nothing to him.

 _Why_ he had ever agreed to such a thing as helping her was beyond him now. She was slumped over his forearms, unconscious and dangling freely over the swiftly passing earth, and had yet to stir. He could feel through his armor that she was very hot, practically radiating heat, and yet no sweat ran from her brows. Fever was ravaging her tiny, fragile body from within. He had seen too many good men die from such a fever, born of blood poisoning, to ignore that she was passing from a merely ill state to deathly sick before his eyes, and a small part of him whispered that it would be more merciful of him to draw his own blade against her than to continue this fool's quest into the nest of vipers that had become his uncle's chief city. Thought of the man, his King, whom he so loved, who had fallen so far under the corruption of another, made Éomer heartsick and furious by turns. He would not be welcomed back into the city with open arms after having defied his liege in leaving it to begin with. Had he any sense he would turn back now and take his chances with a healer-woman of one of the outer villages. But Éomer could not, knowing that to turn back now would mean the girl's death.

Only his sister, a healer of great renown, could help her now.

Éomer still could not fathom why he had been stirred so by her presence. In his mind's eye, he could see her standing before him, fear from the fearsome picture he presented astride his warhorse etched into her delicate features, and yet he could see her attempts not to show it. She had shown so much courage, even as sick as she was, and even his men had been impressed by her nerve. The girl had been barely able to move, and was kept upright only by the strength of her will and the touch of the elf beside her. She was a strong person; he could see it from that first glance. The courage and determination she had revealed in the few minutes she had been coherent in his presence had stirred in him the oddest of reactions. She had pleaded at his feet, begging for her friend's lives. In that moment, emotions had swirled in him that he could not name nor explore fully given his current circumstances, yet still existed all the same. The fierce will that had shone in her face as it flushed red with temper reminded him strongly of his sister, who was the dearest person in his life.

 _That_ _was_ _what_ _it_ _was_ , _then_ , he decided. She reminded him of Éowyn, who was all soft strength and love for the world, and who carried a will of iron and strength. _That strength must sustain her now, because I surely cannot save her on my own without it._ It did not sit well with him that anything was so far outside of his ability to influence, but Éomer knew her will to live would decide her fate now. That, and getting her to Edoras, soon.

Glancing down momentarily at the girl in his arms, Éomer willed her to live. It would be a shame for her to die, truly, even if her appearance in his life was naught but a problem. She was a wee thing – so slight in his arms, and no burden at all for a man of his stature. She looked like a child, and were it not for the rounded shape of her bosom beneath his arm and the curve of her bottom on his thighs, he would have thought her one; still, she was a woman fully gown, if small. This girl had many years left to her yet, if she survived this illness. If he had anything to say about it, she _would_ survive. She was his responsibility for now, and he would sooner be cursed forever than to return the faith shown in him with her death.

Fiercely he clutched her to him, fearing she would fall from the horse as he spurred Firefoot onward. Éomer curled his body around her protectively, ensuring she was secure in his embrace before sinking them as low onto the steed as he could. The girl moaned aloud, coming awake in that moment, nearly throwing herself from the cantering horse with her weak thrashes and jerks. She would kill herself if she fell from Firefoot at this speed. Cursing his luck, Éomer shifted, lifting a hand to the woman's side to still her movements, and felt the deep heat from within her skin. _She is in the throes of fever._ Her strength had been so greatly diminished, Éomer was able to still her with just his hand, holding her to him strongly.

Firefoot understood his shift in body weight as a signal to slow, and he responded as he had been trained to do. They were not far from Edoras now, and the sight of the city in the distance created a lump in his throat born of anger and sadness, and yet also gladness. This was his home. Would he be executed on sight by the deranged, mad king whom he so loved? The woman slumped over his arms again, murmured unintelligibly, sending an irrational fear spiking down him and breaking him from his melancholy thoughts. _Oh Béma, do not let this woman pass in my arms!_

He could see the great hall of Meduseld atop the hill in the distance, and had Éomer been a man of great emotions, he might have wept in sudden, irrational relief at the sight of it. Spurred on by his forceful grip, Firefoot covered the ground more swiftly, taking them through the gates of Edoras and up through the city until he had reached at last the steps leading to the great hall. Éomer dragged the woman from the horse with careless strength before taking the stairs two and three at a time, ignoring the looks the guards gave him as he passed bodily by them. _Éowyn will know what to do. She will save this woman._

He glanced down at the girl in his arms, and was struck by her delicate beauty, so marred by yellowing bruises and crusted wounds. She was the very picture of what happens to women allowed to fight in battle, by his thinking. Éomer swore then and there that his sister would never see this girl's battles as she so wished to. It was a fool's game, deadly when played, and he wanted to knock sense into the strangers who had allowed such damage to come to a woman. When he reached the height of the hill, Hama, the door-guard of Meduseld, tried to stop him from entering the hall of the King, sputtering about meetings and privacy.

"King Théoden will wish to see you, no doubt," he concluded with a stormy, ill-tempered look. No doubt the oaf Wormtongue had forced him to say that. Éomer scowled his displeasure at that name. "Not now, Hama," he growled, seeking to pass the aging doorman. But the red-bearded man stopped him again. "You would bring a woman here?" he gaped, surprised. His eyes showed incredulous curiosity as they swept over the girl in his arms. Éomer's scowl deepened as he ignored the question and shouldered past the old man and into the hall, yelling for his sister."Éowyn!" His voice bellowed through the open space in rising cacophony. He cared not of the servants and guards that rushed to see what was the matter, and ignored them altogether. It was his sister he needed. His legs ate up the distance quickly. Across the great hall the slimy worm Gríma whispered into the King's ear, ignoring his entrance altogether. _By the Gods, I would rend him in two if I but could._ The sight of the oily man there sickened and enraged him.

"Éowyn!" He roared again, to distract himself from his thoughts of murder, and this time the sound came more frantically than the last. _Where was she?_ He rushed through the throne room, seeking his sister in the chambered wings of the hall. The girl in his arms did not have long yet to live, by his reckoning. Seeing her sweet face thrash in his arms did something to him. At last, his sister's golden head appeared in the hallway looking dazed and confused, her face stained with tears. He rushed forward, relief palpable at having found her.

"Éowyn, I need your help - " Éomer stopped, caught by the sight of her tears, which she was hastily drying, her gaze already taking in the feverish woman in her brother's arms. At the sight of those tears, he all but forgot the sick woman in his arms. "What is the matter, sister?" he asked. Worry and tension filled him up, made him want to shake the answer out of her when she hesitated. Éowyn's eyes met his and welled again, making his heart clench painfully. He could never stand the sight of his sister's tears. Dread settled like a lump of peat in his chest. "What has happened?" he asked again. "Tell me." The words were soft and as gentle as he could make them.

The woman in his arms thrashed and moaned, but he had to know, and she was ignored. Something was wrong with his sister, and she was far more important than the stranger. Finally, Éowyn told him, in halting, upset words. "It is Théodred, Éomer," she whispered brokenly. "He is dying." Éomer stared down at her, agog with shock. Horror swirled through him, leaving him feeling as if he had been punched in the gut, and for a moment his grip on the sick female slackened. She slipped from his weakened arms a bit, but did not fall. _Théodred_... _dying?_ _Nay!_

His cousin could not be dying. He was the King's heir! It could not happen, not now. Not with Edoras cloaked in shadow as it was. All that Éomer stood for, in defiance of his liege even at that moment, would be for nothing if Théodred passed unto the dead before the King. Just the idea of it made Éomer forget about his purpose in coming here altogether: the woman. "What did you say?" It came out somewhere between a croak and a groan. Éowyn shook her head, motioning her brother to the next empty chamber. "I will explain later," she sighed, glancing again at the woman in his arms. "It is obvious there are those who have a need to be saved, yet still."

His attention, though broken by the shock of Éowyn's news, returned to the girl. His sister touched gentle fingers against her brow, stroking the bruises that marred her skin before turning her eyes back to him. "Who is this woman?" she asked, with concern. He looked down into the sweaty, bruised, filthy face of the woman he carried, suddenly even less caring of her fate in the face of Théodred's mortal wounds. "She is very ill," he explained, shifting her slight weight in his arms. "Poisoned in the blood, sister." He shared a look with Éowyn, knowing she knew as well how serious the condition was. There was a small part of him that hoped she would choose to abandon the girl and instead go to their cousin, but he knew she would not. Éowyn cared for all things, even strangers.

She waved him into the nearest door. Éomer bent to enter the bedchamber, waiting for her to tell him what to do. In his full armor, filthy from the journey, he looked every inch a battle-hardened fighter. They were two sides to a coin, she and he. Éowyn was the healer, and he, the killer. The girl in his arms thrashed and groaned, reaching for him in her fevered madness. Compassion stirred in him as he watched her struggle, knowing instinctively this girl would not die easily. She, too, was a fighter.

His sister rolled down the blankets on the bed, motioning that he lay her there, which Éomer did with a bit of difficulty; the girl would not let go of his tunic. "We encountered allies in the Westfold," he explained as Éowyn bent to aid him. Her hands were gentle upon the girl, and she made soothing noises in her throat when the fever made the girl babble. Her gray eyes flickered up to meet his again, showing him she was keenly listening even as she worked. "One, a Dúnedain, claimed to be the son of Arathorn," Éomer added pointedly. Her hands stilled on the pillows, her countenance disbelieving when her eyes met his again.

"How is that possible?" Éowyn murmured, shocked. "The line of Gondor's Kings has been long broken!" Éomer tossed one heavy shoulder up into a shrug, wondering the same thing. Indeed, he doubted the man's claim was true. Truthfully, Éomer had not been long enough in the Ranger's company to know if his words were to be trusted or not. Still, the information was not relevant to this girl, and returned his attention to her. He motioned to her prone form, laying so eerily still in the bed, her dark, bound hair gleaming dully across the pillow. "She is called Elin," he said. "They asked that I bring her here, for she was wounded badly somehow." Éowyn shot him a surprised look, making shame echo in his blood. She had not expected him to aid her, and perhaps his sister was right. Of late his heart and mind had become hardened. _You did not expect this of you._

 _"_ She fell into sickness the day we departed," he added, pushing down the feelings only his sister could evoke. The woman moaned, punctuating the graveness of his words, tossing her head feverishly.

Éowyn sucked in a breath, pity for the younger woman obvious on her face. Éomer stared down at his sister seriously, his nose flaring with his anxiety as it was often wont to do. Éowyn was sure he didn't realize his eyes lingered on the girl's frame with an air of worry. "I do not know the extent of her injuries," he continued gravely. She placed an assessing hand on the woman's head, flinching back at the heat she found there, and whirled into action, knowing every minute counted in cases such as these.

"This fever will kill her if we do not bring it down," she said. A servant appeared in the doorway, and Éowyn took advantage of her presence immediately by waving her inside. To her brother, she said, "Fill the tub with warm water – not cold." Éowyn waved a hand towards the bronze bathing kettle in the room. "Go, Éomer! Now!" Never had she commanded him in such an imperious manner, and had the situation been less dire he would have had words with his feisty sister. As it were, he and Britta, her servant, did her bidding wordlessly, bringing bucket after bucket of water to fill the low tub in the corner of the room.

Éowyn insisted that he drag it out into the center of the room, so that she could move around it. Once that was finished, he turned to the woman – Elin – on the bed. Her clothing stuck to every curve. "She needs to be stripped," he said. He moved towards the bed, ready to do the job clinically and dispassionately, but was stopped by the servant's gasp of outrage and his sister's small hand on his pectoral. "Yes, she does, but not by you," Éowyn said firmly. Her clear eyes did not allow for argument. "I will not throw away her modesty so easily," she pressed.

Éomer wanted to protest, but Éowyn pushed him toward the door determinedly. _It is not as if she has something other women do not._ He had seen all that women had to offer a man, many times over. Still, he could see his sister would not be swayed, and Éomer tamped down his impatience. His sister caught his gaze with her own clear gray eyes, and he read the compassion and sudden flash of sadness in them.

"Go to Théodred, brother," she implored with both hands on his arms. "He has little time left. I will look after this woman you have brought to me." Éomer could see the determination in her gaze, and glanced one last time at the bed, concern and something more niggling at him. Reluctantly, he did as his sister wished, exiting the room. Britta and Éowyn watched him go, and the latter was amused to find that the servant looked immensely relieved at his departure. "Ever is he the intense one," she murmured. Her brother had a force of will that was difficult to endure. Britta nodded wordlessly in agreement.

Éowyn put him out of her mind and focused on the task before her. She studied the woman curiously as Britta worked to disrobe her. She looked to be, at first glance, from Dunland; her dark hair and small stature were common among the people there. That she traveled with the supposed lost heir of Gondor was most surprising, however, as the men in Dunland were most possessive of their women and never allowed them to move about. Éowyn wondered how she had come to be with such a group.

This Elin was surely a pretty woman, despite her injuries, and younger even than Éowyn was at a score and four years. She estimated her to be no more than nineteen years of age. Wordlessly Éowyn directed Britta to the other side of the woman as they worked to remove the poor girl's sweat-sopped clothing. "Keep her hair up for now," she commanded, and the servant dropped the thick, matted plait back on the bed, continuing to undo the laces of the woman's boots and breeches. Together they worked her pants from her hips. Éowyn winced in sympathy when Elin moaned aloud as they worked the breeches from her legs, clearly in pain even in her unconscious state.

A sweaty, well-bandaged wound was revealed at last along her thigh, and upon seeing the yellowish tinge to the rags, Éowyn was sure they had found the source of the woman's fever. When Britta started to remove the bandages to have a look, Éowyn stopped her with a gentle hand.

"We will remove the bandages in the water, in case there is much to be cleaned." Britta nodded and began to remove the sweat-soaked shirt, gasping in shock when she saw great purple slashes, more scars than fresh wounds, across Elin's skin. _This is healed skin_ _, Éowyn thought, wondering what in Middle Earth had caused such marks._ "By Béma, this woman is disfigured!" Britta croaked, horrified, in an aged and brittle voice. Her wrinkled hands traced a jagged, puckered scar gently. Éowyn took in the scarring with equally horrified eyes, flitting up to the bruises coloring her otherwise pasty face. _Someone has abused this woman terribly!_

Her heart ached for this unknown girl, and she wanted to stab her unknown _companions_ , lost heir to Gondor's throne or not. _To treat a woman so violently is contemptible!_ Éowyn's imagination ran away with her, and she formed a gruesome picture in her mind of this girl's companions. _Abusers, they are, to be sure!_

Eiln moaned again, snapping Éowyn away from the her thoughts instantly. "No matter, Britta," she said briskly, "Let us move her to the bathing tub." She directed the servant to grasp Elin's shoulders and lift while she supported the poor woman's torso. Together they moved her to the tub of water, laying her gently into the warm, healing waters. When the woman still did not awaken and only moaned in pain as the water hit her body, Éowyn breathed a sigh of relief. "That is good. She responds to us, but does not wake," she said. "Her mind is not yet gone from this world." Éowyn motioned to the stack of cloth laying on a chair nearby.

"Wet the linen and soak her body fully while I remove this bandage," she commanded the elderly servant. Together, the women went to work, their movements silent and focused. After a few moments of attempting to untie the knot in the heavily sweat-caked bandages, Éowyn rose, frustrated and half soaked, striding to the door. "Éomer!" she called clearly, voice raised, knowing he would not be far. Her big brother appeared in the hallway, face streaked with moisture. Clearly, he had been with their cousin. "I need your knife," she said, trying to ignore the blatant emotion in her sibling's face. He stared at her a moment, trying to discern her intention, before finally acquiescing and passing it over wordlessly.

Éowyn started back into the room, but was stopped by Éomer's broad palm on her shoulder. "How is she?" he asked in a husky voice. Beyond Éowyn, the girl's head was visible through the space of the cracked doorway. She looked flushed and serene, but the shadow of death remained in his mind, and he worried. "I do not know yet," Éowyn answered honestly. Gently, she dislodged herself from her brother's grip and disappeared behind the door, leaving Éomer to his emotions.

Inhaling a deep breath to steady herself, Éowyn strode back to the tub and crouched in the floor near the girl. Cautious of the woman's pinked skin, Éowyn sliced the knot in the linen carefully away, grateful when the stained bandage came apart easily under the sharp blade. Placing the knife out of the way, Éowyn began to unravel Elin's leg gently, careful not to pull tightly or bang the wounded appendage against the tub. Once the filthy linen came free, she realized she would not be able to see the wound with the girl laying as she was, as the top of her thigh was decidedly unharmed.

Éowyn directed Britta to sit on the chair at the head of the tub and lift Elin out by the shoulders. The servant did this without complaint, though her thin frock was soaked to the bone in moments. "Turn her now, watch her head," the Éorlingas woman cautioned softly as the girl was shifted. Britta cradled the girl's head in her lap, and she wiped a wet washcloth over Elin's hair and face with a gentle touch, leaving Éowyn to attend to the gash on her thigh. It was not as badly infected as she had been expecting, but the wound had begun to heal already, the half-sealed gash leaving infection trapped inside. The outside edges had healed nicely, but the deeper middle was red and puffy, and most concerning. _It is a good thing Éomer arrived when he did. This would have killed her eventually_ _, Éowyn knew._

"Britta, I am going to need a needle and thread as well as bandages," she instructed softly, never taking her eyes from the girl's leg. "Oh, and those herbs and healing cream I used on my cousin earlier. Lay her back down and fetch them for me, please," she requested. The wound would have to be reopened and drained, a most unpleasant task for everyone, but it would be singularly painful for the poor girl. The servant paled slightly at the sight of the nasty gash that covered the girl's thigh, but quickly regained her senses and nodded, placing the girl gently back into the tub and swiftly exiting the room. Not for the first time, Éowyn was glad to have a woman such as Britta among the servants, for she was loyal and dedicated, never shirking from any task, even one so unpleasant as this. She had been in her uncle's employ since Éowyn was a child, if not longer.

Britta returned fairly quickly, clutching the needed supplies to her bosom. She laid them down on the floor as she was directed, and repositioned herself at Elin's head, helping her Lady to turn the girl once more in the lukewarm water. The poor babe made more soft, pained noises, but soon quieted in Britta's lap. The old servant cooled Elin's face constantly with wet cloth, and tried not to watch as Éowyn went about her work.

Deftly Éowyn sliced open the healing wound from the girl's buttocks to knee, grimacing as bloody pus welled from it instantaneously. Elin barely cried out at that bit of pain, but as Éowyn pushed on the edges of the newly opened wound, seeking to rid it of all infection, she keened and thrashed, forcing Éowyn to hold her leg more firmly. Elin remained blessedly unconscious, a blessing for both servant and lady.

Stoically, Éowyn completed the unpleasant task thoroughly, hating to cause even momentary pain; she didn't stop until blood ran cleanly from the wound, with no trace of infection inside. Only then did Éowyn and Britta clean the girl with a gentle soap to remove any oil and dirt from her body. Éowyn looked for other wounds but found none, other than her bruises. Once this task was finished, together she and Britta moved the wet, still hot woman back to the bed.

Britta sat at the head of the bed to ensure the girl could breath on her stomach while Éowyn began to restitch the entire wound deftly, using small, even strokes, and packing it with healing, infection-fighting herbs as she went along. At the deeper places, Éowyn layered neat stitches to ensure it would heal evenly, and well. The lady was so consumed in this work that she didn't notice when her hands began to shake from rising hunger. Britta, ever the silent, dependable aid, passed her cream and bandages with which to bind the sewn leg as was needed. Éowyn thanked her with a sweet smile, wiping her brow in weariness. Swiftly she applied the poultice to the woman's leg before binding it snugly as it was before.

Relieved that the task was at last completed, Éowyn tossed the dirty bandages from the floor into the softly crackling fireplace in the corner, bidding Britta to tidy up as she went. "Continue to moisten her forehead with cold presses, throughout the night," Éowyn bid her gently. Her eyes flickered to the bed and back to the servant's. "With luck, her fever will break soon." She crossed the room to the door before turning to clasp the servant's hands in gratitude. "We have done all we can do; I thank you for your aid."

Éowyn rolled her shoulders wearily, trying to work a knot from her back. She smiled gently at the servant before exiting the chamber, knowing her brother would be waiting for an update in the corridor. Surely enough, he paced the hallways like a caged Mearas, stopping anxiously when he heard the door open and scrape heavily against the cold stone floor. Her brother had always worked so hard to be stoic and emotionless. Yet she wondered if he knew how clearly he showed his emotions to her. Éomer stepped toward her, tense and moody.

"Well?" he asked gruffly, tense and agitated. Éowyn smiled gently at her brother, hoping her update would soothe him. Too often of late her brother had neglected his emotions, preferring the mindless duty of battle. While it was startling to see such blatant feeling on him, it soothed _her_ to know he had not forgotten yet himself. "She will live, I think," Éowyn reported. "I had to re-open a long gash on her leg to remove a fair bit of disease that had settled there, and with luck, her fever should break soon."

The tension in her brother dissipated as she spoke, and he let out a sigh. "That is good news," he breathed, toying with the ends of his long hair. _It needs a trim_ , Éowyn thought idly. "The heir to Gondor's throne, if it is indeed he, would be sorely upset were she to pass under our watch," Éomer continued, making his sister smile a bit. She knew him well enough to know that he, too, was pleased that the girl would likely live. To her surprise, Éomer brought her into a hug, suddenly. "Thank you, sister, for your aid," he breathed into her shoulder. "I was afraid that she would die in my arms."

There was a tremor in his muscles, though not for fear of the girl. Éowyn knew her brother well enough to know he was thinking, too, of their cousin. Their precious, dying cousin. The thought of him made her victory with the girl seem less, though Éowyn was mindful that it was not. With a smile for her fierce warrior-brother, Éowyn pulled back. "You always did have a good heart, Éomer, even if you pretend otherwise," she said gently. "This girl owes you her life, not I."

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 _Please review!_


	35. Interrupted

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Four: Interrupted**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

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 _March 1st,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

"Arghhh," Gwen coughed as the bitter medicine the older woman had given her hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag terribly at the acid taste. With effort, she was able to choke down the disgusting liquid without throwing it back up. "God, that's vile!" Gwen moaned as the metal cup disappeared from view, wishing like hell she could slip back into that wonderful, painless dream-state she had been in before waking in this foreign place. The old servant attending her looked up from where she was turning back the sheets on the bed, her gaze sympathetic, even if her understanding of the girl was somewhat limited. Upon waking, Britta discovered the girl did not speak Rohirric, the only language she knew. Therefore, they had been nearly unable to communicate, save for gestures and expressions.

"I am sorry for the taste, young one," she clucked, noting the sour curl to the young girl's lips and the yellow tint to her bruised face, "but Lady Éowyn insists that you drink the concoction three times a day, to keep away further sickness." To punctuate her words, Britta motioned to the cup and held up three fingers, drawing a groan from the girl on the bed. _Just great. I've got to drink this three frigging times!_

Gwen nodded in response, feeling ill and more than a little sulky. She wanted Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, not the kindly, wrinkled face of this woman. She was sick of not being able to truly communicate. It was too bad these people weren't elves, because her Sindarin had gotten pretty darn good, if she did say so of herself. But no, these Saxonesque people spoke a rougher, less melodic language than the elves that was no less beautiful to the ears, or difficult to understand. Unfortunately it was not a language Gwen spoke, leaving them in a bad spot in regards to communication. So far, no one seemed overly bothered by her lack of language skills, but it was driving her crazy.

The woman motioned towards the door, a slight smile on her face. This servant, whose name Gwen had learned to be Britta following a rather difficult first few minutes with her, had been exceptionally patient with her. "Lady Éowyn will want to check your wounds herself, to ensure everything is healing properly. Rest while I fetch her." She motioned to herself, then back to the door, repeating the name Éowyn again. Her plain linen dress swished as she walked around the bed and across the room.

Gwen nodded. Not wanting to forget her manners even if they would not be understood, she stopped the old servant as she reached the door. "Thank you, for your help, Britta," she said softly. Britta nodded before sweeping from the room, leaving Gwen to observe her surroundings and search her memories in silence. She was still groggy from her sleep and growing a fair bit woozy from the concoction she had consumed. The last thing she recalled was Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli surrounded by giant horses and big men. _We were traveling across the fields of Rohan...searching for Merry and Pippin,_ _Gwen recalled._

Her memory was a bit scattered and blurry, but the pieces slowly filtered back into place. _We encountered the dangerous horsemen, and Aragorn had them take me away._ Try as she might, Gwen could not recall anything more than that, except for the curious smell of cedar and musk, and the feel of warm, firm flesh under her fingertips. Those memories melded with the hazy dream images of Dorothy Gale and the Yellow Brick Road, and of the Cowardly Lion. _I must have dreamed of the Wizard of Oz._ It had always been a favorite movie of hers as a child. The idea of ending up in a fantastical world far from home had seemed so exciting to her then. Gwen had grown up, it seemed, because she was realizing it wasn't nearly as fun as it looked. It was dangerous, and it could get you killed. _She had almost died_. The realization was sobering.

Gwen tested her wounded leg tentatively by moving it a scant inch, wincing as the stiff appendage shifted. It was still there, at least. She would not be walking around anytime soon, however. A tiny shift too much to the left sent a bolt of pain firing up through her nerves, and as she breathed through the wave of nausea it caused her, Gwen realized there was an interesting smell in the air of the room – something faint and flowery. _You're imagining things again, just like with the cedar._ A flash of memory entered her mind's eye, then, of a sweaty, hair-covered arm banded across her torso. A man's arm. Gwen couldn't remember more than that. _Who brought me here?_ Gwen struggled to remember, but nothing became clear.

Attributing her memories to a mix of reality and feverish delusions, Gwen looked carefully around the chamber, growing interested in this new place she had awoken in. A low fire heated the room, dark blocks of peat crackling lowly every so often in the flames. Thick furs were strewn across the room, covering the stone floor and even one or two places on the wall. A large tapestry of a forest with animals covered an entire wall opposite the bed she lay in, and large, heavy curtains were drawn back from big windows to reveal a clear winter sky. The sight instantly cheered her. The room was inviting and warm, bringing to Gwen's mind stories of ancient Vikings and Celts.

Gwen's tongue was as dry as sandpaper and tasted of bitter herbs from the medicine Britta had given her. When she had awoken only minutes ago, it had felt as if she was wading up through thick, choking quicksand, until at last she reached the surface and could see clearly. She still was struggling to make sense of everything her body was telling her. The old woman had been at her side in those first moments, murmuring in that foreign language of hers and wiping her face with a damp, cool cloth. It had felt so good on her skin, which was flushed and a little sticky from sweat. When the servant saw she was fully awake, Britta had gently asked her questions. The only clue Gwen had been given they were questions was in the tone of the woman's voice – it had shifted with each one, the pitch itself indicating something was being asked.

Upon discovering their language barrier, they had begun to communicate with a mixture of gestures and charades. Britta handed her a smooth pewter cup filled with the utterly vile concoction and asked her to drink by motioning to her mouth and the cup. And Gwen, being at heart a good and obedient soul, had trustingly drank that first sip unawares. _What. a. sucker._ The utterly American phrase made her smile, even if it came from within her own head. Gwen was amazed when her face did not throb in response to the movement. She raised a hand and felt her face, shocked that all the puffiness that had been around her eye and cheek had disappeared as far as she could tell. Catching sight of a small, open bowl of a creamy substance on a table beside the bed, Gwen curiously reached over and dipped a finger inside, inspecting the oily mixture and determining that it was at most a cream for pain and minor wounds. It smelled faintly of chamomile and bayberry, which she remembered learning about in Elrond's study so long ago. They were two herbs used to treat wounds like hers. _How long have I been here?_ _She wondered. Gwen had so many questions._

 _Obviously, she had been here l_ ong enough that her face had healed a little, if not altogether. Gwen could not see herself to know for sure. Wondering what other changes had occurred in her wounds, Gwen straightened up in the bed, careful not to aggravate her leg. She grasped the thick plait of her hair, grimacing at the greasy, caked quality of the strands under her fingers, feeling for the place on her skull where she had hit it so terribly days before. She remembered Boromir tackling her and shaking her body senseless. Her hands felt the thin scab along the hard ridge of her occipital bone. It itched when she touched it, telling her it was almost healed completely.

Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin when the chamber door opened suddenly to reveal a beautiful woman with long blond hair cascading in ringlets down her back and around her shoulders. She was dressed simply in a linen dress and tied black tunic, but something in her carriage told Gwen that this woman was not a servant, but rather someone more privileged. "You are awake!" The woman cried, crossing to the bed and sitting upon its edge, smiling in a friendly manner. Gwen couldn't help but smile back, rather startled to hear a language she recognized coming from the woman's mouth, even if it was accented differently than what she was used to with Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. "I am so glad to see you up and about!" The woman seemed to genuinely mean what she said, and to be interested in Gwen. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

For a moment Gwen didn't respond, her brain working sluggishly to process what was going on and being said. _That concoction is some pretty strong stuff._ She shifted restlessly, trying to wake up a little more, to focus, only to wince slightly when she shifted her wounded leg and caused herself more pain. "I do not feel terrible, actually," Gwen started, clearly her throat when the first words came out a hoarse croak of sound. She smiled sleepily up into the older woman's face, noting absently the dark circles under her eyes, and their watery quality.

"That is excellent!" The woman replied huskily, laying a hand on Gwen's where it laid on the bed, squeezing slightly before releasing and moving away. "My name is Éowyn," she introduced herself without a title, leaving Gwen curious about who she was. Still, she smiled politely. "I'm Gwen," she replied, and Éowyn looked startled and confused. "You are not called Elin, then?" Gwen's brows furrowed in her own confusion a moment before she realized what the other woman was getting at. "You mean _elen_?" She pronounced it in Sindarin questioningly. At the other woman's confirming nod, Gwen explained, "My friends call me that, but it is not my true name. My name is Gwendolyn, or Gwen." Éowyn's glowing smile returned as understanding dawned, and she nodded. "I see!" Éowyn said. "Shall I call you Gwen, then?" Gwen nodded sleepily, earning a half smile from the woman.

"Alright, well," she started briskly, "Now that I know who you are for sure, why don't we check out this nasty cut of yours, hmm? I want to ensure it's healing nicely." Her manner was all business, firm, leaving no room for argument. Now it was Gwen's turn to be unsure. It was one thing to have her friends touching her out of medical need, but a relative stranger? Her indecision must have shown on her face clearly, because Éowyn rose and patted her arm in reassurance, assuming that the woman valued her modesty greatly and did not want to be seen unclothed.

"Don't worry, I won't need you to strip your clothing," she offered gently. "Just turn over for me and I'll lift your gown just a bit." Gwen flushed a little, embarrassed by her overly anxious behavior. Clearing her throat, she smiled nervously. She had no reason to be embarrassed, and yet she was. Damn 21st century thinking. _Better get used to this aspect of Middle Earth, Gwen, or better yet, stay healthy and able to take care of yourself._

"Sorry, I'm just not really used to being half clothed around strangers." Éowyn nodded in understanding, speaking even as Gwen was easing herself over onto her stomach and automatically aiding the younger woman. "It is completely understandable that you would be nervous, Gwen. Do not be embarrassed." Éowyn paused, lifting up the edge of the thin shift that served as Gwen's gown. She could feel the woman's hands working to undo the knot of her bandages. When she spoke again, Gwen could hear the crisp professionalism in her voice.

"My brother, Éomer, was the one who brought you here from the Westfold," she began, gently unbinding the bandage around Gwen's thigh. "He said that you were traveling in the company of men." Head in a pillow, Gwen nodded, voice muffled when she answered, "We were traveling after two of our friends, who were taken by uruk-hai into Rohan." Gwen felt Éowyn pause, then heard her respond. "My brother has spoken of these creatures to me," she said, "They are very dangerous, are they not?" Gwen nodded again into the pillow. "They are the creatures that did all this to me," she offered after a moment's silence. "In a battle," she whispered, remembering the vicious encounter. "I thought I was dead."

Éowyn had a soft touch; Gwen felt almost nothing as she was unwinding the dense cloth from Gwen's leg. "You are very young to have encountered such beasts," she answered gently, and Gwen got the sense that there was a lot that she wasn't saying. Long moments passed in silence as the healer continued to unwind her dressings. "You were very lucky to have received only this wound in your battles," Éowyn murmured. Gwen remembered how Boromir had fought to the death defending her and the hobbits. By the time she had received this wound, her own skills in combat were worthless thanks to the head wound she had sustained. Remembering all that made her ache.

At last the long gash was uncovered, and Éowyn grew silent as she inspected the wound, prodding it gently at different intervals, making Gwen wince a time or two. "Are you in much pain?" The lady asked. Gwen turned her head to speak more clearly, laying it awkwardly on the pillow. "Not really. I get a twinge now and then, but nothing terrible," she answered. Éowyn nodded, bending to inspect the stitched gash again. "I think it is healing nicely, and there is no sign of further sickness within it, thank the Maker!" The woman smiled, but it was muted as she studied the younger girl with clear eyes

"You were in poor shape when you arrived, you know," she said with a healer's more critical admonition. Gwen did not _really_ know what state she was in before, but she nodded anyway, a derisive chuckle rising from her chest. She twisted her torso to look at the woman with a fair bit of humor in her eyes. "Well, I don't _really_ know," she said, "But judging by my lack of concrete memories of the last...three days?"She made a show of counting her fingers. "I'd say I was in pretty poor shape, too," Gwen concluded lightly. Éowyn didn't seem to share the same humor regarding the situation. Instead she seemed a little withdrawn and sad, making Gwen wonder, not for the first time, what had this woman distracted and moody. She did not seem the type _not_ to smile, especially if the laugh lines around her eyes were to be believed.

Musings aside, Gwen knew what _she_ needed right now. "Do you think I could take a bath?" she asked. "I feel disgusting." She lifted her hands, inspecting them and finding dirt under her fingernails. Éowyn considered her a moment, as if weighing her hardiness with her illness, before finally nodding. "I think the air will do your newly made battle-scar some good, now that the danger of blood sickness has eased. Come, let's get you up. Britta!" she called. The old servant entered the chamber and stood waiting for her orders. Éowyn helped to turn Gwen over, who was being very careful of her wounded leg. Together, the three of them eased her up from the bed, into a sitting position.

"Fetch water for the tub, and our guest's things, if you would, please," she commanded the older woman, convincing Gwen of her higher status than the servant. Having _completely_ forgotten about her belongings, Gwen beamed at the suggestion. Éowyn caught her happy smile and returned it, but it didn't reach her eyes completely. Something told Gwen it wasn't personal, but that she was carrying something inside that was making her unhappy. At least, that was her guess. It was just that, a guess. Being an almost complete stranger to her, Gwen didn't figure she would find out about her life any time soon.

"Come, come," Éowyn ushered her away from the bed with gentle strength. "To the tub with you." Gingerly, Gwen eased her weight down onto her legs, aware of even the slightest twinge of pain. _Don't be a baby, Gwendolyn. It's just a gash. A mega gash. But it'll heal_ _, she told herself._

Together Éowyn and Gwen moved carefully to the low tub in the middle of the room, which Britta had filled nearly half full of hot water. Small tremors of pain bolted up and down her leg as the stitches in her thigh protested Gwen's every movement, but it was nothing unmanageable. The pain was, thankfully, temporary. Trying to move served as a great reminder of how weak and underfed she had been in the last days. Her stomach rumbled audibly in response, making all three women chuckle. Once she was settled, naked, in the water, Éowyn dashed off to bring a tray of food to her.

Gwen loosened her hair with a sigh, enjoying the heated water's numbing affect on her body. She eased her hips down farther in the tub before dunking the filthy strands of her hair into the water, coming up in time to hear Britta murmuring sympathetically and motioning to her body. Hair dripping, Gwen twisted her head around so fast her neck popped. All thoughts of keeping her body relaxed were forfeited as she tensed, knowing automatically what the servant was saying even if she couldn't understand. "I know they look terrible," she said, motioning to her scars. It came out a low sad murmur, and Britta looked embarrassed, obviously aware of her words' affect. "It happened a long time ago," Gwen explained, even though Britta would not understand. She was oblivious to Éowyn returning with a tray of food. "But they don't hurt anymore, at least," she offered the old woman a smile, wishing she could understand even half of what was being said. Éowyn, however, did understand, and after placing the tray upon the bed, joined them by the tub with a compassionate smile. There was a look of steel, however, in her eyes when she said, "Did your companions harm you thus, Gwen?"

The younger could only stare, utterly stunned into silence for long moments as she processed the serious question. Images of Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas filled her mind's eye as the foreign woman waited for a reply. Then Boromir's. The Gondorian had, at first, been her adversary, a man bent on humiliating her into quitting, and who had become, later, a friend. Even he would never have harmed her. Anger rose to fill her gut at Éowyn's assumption. Logically, Gwen recognized it was a reasonable assumption to make, but it galled her that anyone would think so lowly of these men whom had protected her at cost to themselves. Still, Éowyn waited for a reply, innocent of Gwen's inner rage.

In a controlled, chilly voice, Gwen answered, "Of course not. My companions would never harm me." It was the most she could choke out. Abruptly, she rose from the tub, uncaring of the pain that jolted up her leg at the movement. She stalked to her pack with a heavy limp, heedless of Éowyn's protest. Gwen wrenched it open, retrieving her bathing items before limping back to the tub, anger apparent in every line of her body. Silence reigned inside the room, and Éowyn was greatly sorry for the damage her assumptions had apparently wrought with the other woman.

Éowyn wanted to make things right, somehow. "Britta, leave us, please," she commanded to the servant. Gwen did her best to ignore the two Éorlingas women completely as she scrubbed her skin. The servant woman swiftly left the room, and Gwen did her best to concentrate on trying open the stoppered bottle of oil for her hair. Éowyn spoke softly, watching the other woman more carefully now. Her prior movements could have done real damage to her wounds and she did not want her to do anything more to harm herself. "I am sorry, Gwen, for my assumption about your friends. I can see that it has angered you."

Gwen was silent for long moments, taking care to wash her hair fully, scowling. Finally, she replied, "Do you know even who my friends _are_?" Éowyn shook her head, twisting her hands together regretfully. Gwen began to feel badly about her anger, knowing that Éowyn could not have known the truth. "I was traveling with the heir to the throne of Gondor, a well-mannered dwarf and a prince of the elves," she continued more gently than before. "That is who you have thought capable of this." Gwen waved a hand down her scarred torso, wet and gleaming from the water. "The man – no, wraith," she corrected herself, "Who did this to me, well. He was an evil being. Nowhere close to the level of goodness in my friends."

She leveled a glance at the blonde woman, to show that she wasn't angry anymore, just being very serious. "But I understand why you might think so," she said evenly. "But they are old wounds." Éowyn nodded, earnestly glad that the other woman was not upset with her. She had had a bad habit of making assumptions as a child, and Éowyn thought herself beyond those years now. The realization that she wasn't quite was very humbling. Gwen, at least, seemed willing to move past the error. "Shall we get you up and out of the tub?" she suggested brightly, voice tinged with embarrassment. The water was getting cold, so Gwen couldn't be all that comfortable by this point.

When the younger woman acquiesced, Éowyn pulled Gwen to her feet in the tub, waiting patiently as she stepped gingerly onto the floor. Passing her a towel with which to dry, Éowyn informed her that her clothes were being washed and dried and that she would need to wait in bed for them. Gwen, who by this point was very tired, welcomed the opportunity to sleep. Éowyn helped her onto the bed, encouraging her to sit and cover herself while she fetched a sleeping gown for her to wear. Gwen was not concerned with her attire at the moment, but slipped under the covers anyway. She was more concerned with slaking her hunger. Gingerly, she ate fruit and cheese from the food Éowyn had brought her as she waited for the healer to return.

The chamber door opened suddenly, and Gwen, expecting Éowyn, sat up in the bed, unthinking of her undressed state. Instead, a _very_ tall man filled the doorway, his body taking up the space nearly from seam to seam. His presence startled her, and she gasped in surprise. The man's leonine features were sharp, angular, and unfamiliar to her, but his eyes were piercingly memorable as his gaze found hers amongst the bedclothes. _This was the horse lord!_ Gwen remembered falling to his feet in supplication, and of feeling afraid of him. Now, in more sane condition, she took note of him more clearly.

Upon their first meeting, Gwen hadn't been able to see his features under the grime of life in the wilderness, together with his helm. She could see how how those yellow-green eyes fit into the cut of his features. _He was_ _beautiful._ She flushed red at the thought, still lost to his presence as her eyes drank in the sight of him. Normally, facial hair did not attract her, but the short beard framing his stern jaw looked pleasingly roguish on his face, and was exceeded only by the long, golden hair framing his face and brushing his shoulders.

It was like she forgot her wits as she looked at him. Gwen covered her breasts with her hands and arms, not knowing she was increasing their appeal by doing so. She was unable to say a word; Gwen only gaped open-mouthed at him. The horse lord didn't seem inclined to speak, either, but rather was more interested in looking at her, too. Something she had never experienced before was passing through the room, because of him. It was a curious energy that swirled between them.

He was built like a warrior – all thick muscle stacked onto a well-built, tall frame. There was power in every line of his body. and something commanding and riveting about the way he held himself. Gwen thought he was the most attractive man she had ever seen. The ferocious look in his eyes also made him the most intimidating man she had ever laid eyes on. Restless energy nearly crackled visibly around him, and his eyes burned her with their fiercely keen, piercing yellow-green gaze. This man was clearly a leader. It made sense now that he had been the one to confront them on the plains.

He met her stare head on, never taking his eyes from her, and it made her feel strangely warm and vulnerable as she lay there. Instinct whispered to her to lay still and silent. This man terrified her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Realizing he could see her naked breasts even with her arms over her chest, Gwen gasped and pulled the sheet up to cover herself just as Britta appeared in the doorway, dwarfed in size and stature by the man beside her.

"Lord Éomer!" She gasped in horror, clearly not intimidated by him as Gwen was. "You cannot be in here!" the old woman declared, glaring fiercely up at him. The massive man ignored the servant's obvious upset caused by his presence, though he did at last allow his gaze to flow towards the servant. Free now to observe this foreign conversation, Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, and listened, though she could not understand a word.

"I am looking for my sister," he explained in a rumbling voice, in the same language. Gwen found herself reacting to that sound just as she had his appearance, with every nerve jumping in response to that deep, gravelly tone. Though she had little experience with the opposite sex, it seemed unusual to be so affected by a person. When his weighty gaze flickered back to her, Gwen resisted the urge to shudder. Helpless desire, far stronger than anything she had felt before, pooled inside her abdomen.

Gwen blushed hotly at the ideas that ran through her head in the next moments, knowing she had no business thinking about anyone, much less a stranger, in such explicit terms. That she had at all made her wary and confused. Gwen was sure it wasn't normal to react like this to a person. Britta, for her part, seemed wholly unaffected by the man, though she supposed the elder woman's age might have something to do with that.

"She is not in here," Britta answered disapprovingly, "And neither should you be. Leave, now!" she commanded, and Gwen was surprised at the tone she took with the man. Éomer's sharp eyes flickered to meet Britta's but immediately returned to Gwen's face before inclining his head with a regally lazy bent that could only be described as indolent. He turned away from her, toward the door as the older woman bid him. His movements reminded her of a great golden lion, all sinuous power and feline grace. Gwen couldn't help but wonder what he would have done if Britta hadn't appeared at all.

He exited the chamber as softly and quietly as he had entered, and Gwen shared a look of equal parts horror and fascination with Britta, who quickly explained to her using their curious communication that Éomer was Éowyn's older brother, which shocked Gwen. That _was Éowyn's brother? Holy shit._ Other than their shared hair color and texture, they couldn't have been more dissimilar. Where Éowyn was sweet and gentle in form and nature, Éomer was as electric as a thunderstorm, and twice as deadly – even a fool could see that. Thinking of his eyes on her and the reaction they caused within her, Gwen shuddered. She was no fool, and made a note to avoid him at all costs.

* * *

 _Please review! More Éomer/Gwen interaction to come._


	36. A Specter in Meduseld

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Five: A Specter in Meduseld**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Medulseld lay quiet that night, and the only sound that broke the still air was the crackle of burning peat in the fireplace a short way away. Gwen sat stiffly in the creaky chair in her room, trying not to scratch at her healing, itchy skin and contemplating her very first entry in the journal Lady Galadriel had given her. It was late, and she was one of only a few people left awake in the hall. Thoughts of home, and of her friends, kept her awake and unable to sleep, so she had crossed the room to the small desk in the corner to lay down those thoughts on paper.

She had never been the type to write about herself aimlessly, so she figured the best way to begin such an endeavor as keeping a journal for herself and her past was to give herself a goal of some sort. Who did she want to write this for, really? Herself, yes of course, but writing to oneself seemed almost as bad as talking to oneself in her opinion, so she had to dig deeper and find another, layered meaning to what she was doing here. What purpose did it have, otherwise? Who would be interested in such a thing as an eighteen-year-old's journal? Gwen fingered the soft goose down at the base of the quill she was to use contemplatively, her chin in one hand.

A knock at the door broke Gwen's musings and the stillness of the night, softly, before opening to reveal a bed-clothed Éowyn. When Gwen waved her inside a heartbeat later, she moved almost silently to stand over the small desk, peeking curiously over her new friend's shoulder. This late-night visit had become almost habit for the two women since Gwen's arrival in Meduseld a week ago. "It's a journal that was given to me, before I came here," Gwen explained softly at the unspoken question in the other woman's eyes.

Gwen's own eyes were unknowingly shadowed with her heavy, lingering thoughts. The Eorlingas woman smiled, touching the fine leather cover. "It is a fine gift, Gwen," she complimented. "What shall you write in it? Thoughts of your past?" Éowyn's kind gray eyes were understanding as Gwen's flickered up to meet them. They had spoken briefly before of her unique origins, but she seemed to understand that Gwen didn't want to talk about her family and life before the war. The memories of her family and friends left behind on Earth remained a painful wound that would not heal.

It would be difficult to write about those thoughts.

Gwen shrugged, struggling to dispel her sadness. She replied, "I don't know, really, Éowyn." Her voice carried through the room softly. "I need an audience to write to," she explained. "That is what's keeping me from beginning." The other woman laid a hand on her shoulder delicately, wishing she could help her friend with her painful past. An idea came to her, and she sat delicately on the edge of the chair beside Gwen's, smiling. "Perhaps you could write to your parents," Éowyn suggested. "It is easy to see you miss them greatly." Was it? Gwen had not realized she was that transparent to the other woman. Éowyn _was_ the one with which she spent most of her time these days, and she didn't miss anything. Her gaze was as keen as her brother's. Consciously, Gwen shied away from thoughts of the big horse lord who had brought her here.

The fire popped and fizzed in the silence that followed. One of the things Gwen liked about Éowyn was that she understood the value of sharing one's company without words. "My mother used to write a journal, too, you know – to us," she revealed a moment later. "Éomer and I, I mean." Gwen heard the note of sadness in her voice, and closed the journal, turning to her friend fully to hear her story.

Gwen learned only yesterday that Éowyn had lost both her parents at a young age, leaving her and her brother orphans. Their uncle, who was the King of Rohan, had taken them in. Gwen had joked that she was practically royalty, which the other woman denied. Her cousin was heir, she had said. Still, Gwen couldn't help but notice that the niece of the King didn't have many visitors, and she suspected that it was due in part to her being a member of the royal family, to be held apart from others. It was rather sad; Gwen found Éowyn to be a lovely person who deserved friends.

"I was finally allowed to read from it upon my sixteenth summer," she continued softly, her voice growing husky with emotion. "And it was – so wonderful." She brought her hand up against her cheek with a smile. A sheen of tears appeared in Éowyn's eyes, and she drew her feet up to rest on the chair, meeting Gwen's eyes with a tilted smile. "She had given to us...to me," she clarified, "The gift of herself long after her death. It has been a comfort to me, and from what my uncle tells me, it was a comfort for her to write it." Silence followed again, for a moment, as Éowyn's words soaked through the haze of their mutually heavy thoughts.

"Perhaps you might write to those that you love and tell them of all the things you have seen, as my mother did for me," she offered. Éowyn motioned to the book in Gwen's hands. "Tell them all the things you can't anymore," she said earnestly, and her words lit a spark in Gwen. Perhaps it would work to write to her parents, or to Jessie. She sucked in a breath that was heavy with emotion, which the other woman read easily enough in the light of the fire. "Good idea," Gwen said at last over the lump in her throat. It wouldn't be easy, but it was a worthy reason to write in a journal. With a nod, Éowyn stood and pressed a hand to her new friend's shoulder before retreating wordlessly from the room, leaving Gwen to her thoughts and to her writing.

By the flickering light of the fireplace, Gwen stared at the leather-bound journal in her hands. _Sometimes, I can almost forget where I came from, and too often lately I find myself forgetting more than that – memories that ought not be forgotten. I suppose this is where I put them now._ Perhaps one day her heart wouldn't feel so heavy with the memories, if she placed them in the journal instead. A moment later, with that encouraging thought ringing in her head, Gwen opened the book to its first page, picked up the foreign writing quill, and contemplated her first words carefully.

* * *

The next morning, with her heart considerably lighter, Gwen walked the halls of Meduseld for a bit of exercise, enjoying the new sights and sounds of the medieval hall. Servants and guards bustled past her every few minutes, barely giving her a spare glance. Gwen wondered where they were going in such a hurry, and to what end. She envied their ability to move with such haste. _She_ was still forced to take each step slowly and carefully, forced to ease her body back into movement after going so long without any at all. Her joints especially seemed determined to rebel against her efforts, and it was very difficult to walk even a short distance without stopping due to the exertion each movement placed on her. She had not been this weak since the Witch-King attack over a year ago. She was sick of laying around like a baby; it was time to get moving.

 _Between Legolas carrying me halfway across Rohan and being laid up in that blasted bed, I've lost nearly all the muscle I had gained!_ She moped about that fact a little, but resolved to renew her strength in due time. _I'm just glad I can walk._ _Gwen was grateful for that._

Éowyn loaned her a pretty white gown to wear while Britta cleaned her other clothing, which had been heavily soiled and required several cleanings, and invited her to enjoy the sights and sounds of the hall. Though the other woman had warned her away from the king's throne room, saying that it would not be wise to draw the eye of anyone there in these days, Gwen had free reign of the rest of Meduseld. It was an odd thing to tell a person, but Gwen took Éowyn's advice seriously, knowing that she had better knowledge of the goings on in Rohan than Gwen did.

The king, her uncle, was very ill. It seemed the hall itself was ill with him. There was a strange, gloomy pall cast over the whole building, and the shadows seemed longer and darker everywhere she looked. While Gwen was sure the hall was bright and cheerful normally, the corners of each hallway were filled with these shadows, even on a clear day like today. It made her wonder what magic was afoot in the place, and that it wasn't good magic like Gandalf's.

Still, Gwen enjoyed watching the comings and goings of the people of Meduseld. More than once she stopped a servant to ask about a particular item that caught her eye, and it seemed this newest hallway was to be no different. This corridor was more narrow than the others, and there was no one to be seen within its length. Curiously, Gwen looked around, enjoying the sight of a couple of raggedly-dressed children playing with a ball of some sort through a window nearby. She leaned against the wall a moment to watch, willing her leg to stop cramping. She noticed a monstrous banner on the opposite wall from where she stood after a moment. It was easily the largest tapestry she had seen so far, measuring some eight feet across as well as tall. It depicted a white horse under a strong orange sun that gleamed with a shiny thread woven throughout it.

Curiously, Gwen hobbled forward, wanting to touch the material and glean a sense of how it was made from the threads. Gently she reached out and fingered the heavy tapestry material, expecting a dense and heavy weave, and was surprised to find it was a strong, smooth material she couldn't place. _Some kind of silk, maybe?_ The stitches were tiny and meticulous, even at the edges; it was a piece that had obviously been very lovingly and painstakingly made over a great number of hours. Whoever had completed the thing had obviously put much time and energy into it.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Startled by the new, unexpected voice, Gwen jumped with fright, tensing instinctually. Her leg cramped again painfully in response, nearly sending her to her ass on the floor, and she was forced to use the beautiful tapestry for balance. Placing a hand to her chest in hopes that her heart would stop racing, Gwen looked around carefully, searching for the owner of the voice.

It should have struck her as odd then and there that the man had not revealed himself _before_ speaking to her, but in the moment she did not think on it. Searching the shadowed corridor warily, she finally found him partially hidden in shadow across the hall from her. Knowing he had been caught, the man emerged and was fully revealed to her in the brightness of the sun streaming through the window. Had she been less charitable Gwen might have called this man ugly. His hair fell in greasy, stringy locks around his head, and his skin was sallow and greatly needed a day in the sun. His eyes were the most disconcerting part of him – beady, roving, and lingering in all the wrong places.

His gaze left Gwen feeling vaguely dirty, despite having just bathed. At the very least, he made her instantly uncomfortable. Knowing her mother would have chastised her for having negative preconceived notions, she instead decided to settle on his being merely unpleasant. Tense with the jolt of fright he had given her, Gwen turned back to the tapestry, determined to be cordial despite her unease in this man's presence. "It is, yes," she agreed, studying the even stitches. "Do you know who made it?"

The man slipped from the shadows to stand beside her, and immediate was swamped with unease at how close he came into her personal space. His odor was not pleasant, a mixture of musk and something faintly foul. Up close, he reminded her strongly of a mole or some such other large rodent. _Charitable thoughts, Gwendolyn._ When he spoke, his voice was as oily as before. "As a matter of fact, I believe it was completed some years ago by Théodwyn, the king's only sister, upon her brother's coronation," he explained in an unpleasantly nasal tone. His eyes gleamed with something wicked in the pale light. God but she was jumpy around this man. Her nerves were screaming at her to put space between him and her, but she couldn't do it without seeming rude. "Bless her departed soul," he finished reverently as he looked at the tapestry Gwen was trying so hard to study. It didn't sound like he was earnest in blessing her. He slipped a sidelong glance to her, and Gwen suppressed a shiver at the way it made her feel. This man was most unpleasant indeed.

Tactfully, Gwen thanked the man for his information and shied away from his presence at her side, trying to move nonchalantly down the corridor, claiming to need rest. That much, at least, was true. The time she had spent, tense, in his presence, had taken its toll, and she was all but sagging against the wall with every step in weariness. The man stopped her with a hand to her arm, his face twisted in what he must have thought was a pleasant expression, but it only served to scare her further. With him so close, Gwen felt overwhelmed with anxiety and fear. She had never had such an adverse reaction to a person before.

"Please, stay," the man implored greasily. "Your company is _most_ pleasant." He all but leered at her, his hand cold and biting on her forearm, his fingers curling around her wrist with surprising strength. Gwen tried to remove her arm from his reedy grasp, but his thin fingers tightened on her perceptibly, making her gasp at the pressure they exerted on her. For such a thin man, he was very strong. He was also a complete stranger, and shouldn't have thought it was okay to touch her. Alarm bells went off in her mind, screaming at her to flee, but Gwen was caught in his grip, trapped up against the wall.

"Th-thank you, sir," she stuttered, "But I'm afraid I must be going." Fear began to claw at her, for she was unarmed, and as recovered as she may have been, Gwen would not be able to fight him off for long at her current level of strength. After a heartbeat, when he did not release her, Gwen began to struggle in earnest. He only looked down at her with a gleam in his beady eyes, and she tugged at his hand, her movements hard enough to leave bruises in her already abused skin.

"Release me," she commanded, trying to sound imperious like Éowyn and failing. "I – I am not feeling well." The man's eyes glinted with something unpleasant, and he bent to smell her hair, completely repulsing her with his closeness, and she tried to jerk her arm away, but he only pulled her closer. _Okay, enough games._ "Let me go, you asshole!" She yelled it, uncaring if half the hall could hear her in that moment. All Gwen was concerned with was putting space between them. The air had grown cloying and hard to breathe; something was very, very wrong with this man. The man's eyes glinted angrily at her words, and he opened his mouth to speak, but was – blessedly – interrupted.

"Gríma!" The whip of a deep, angry voice was welcome in that moment, no matter who it was. Gwen sagged in relief, grateful beyond words that she was no longer alone, even if the stranger still had her in his steely grip. The man, Gríma, shrank back into the shadows at the sound. Éowyn's brother, Éomer, emerged from the shadowed corridor, looking very capable of handling this wormy little man, even if she couldn't. He was the exact antithesis of the smaller man – all brawn and rugged, golden beauty. It struck Gwen then and there that this man, no matter how fierce or dangerous, could never feel so _vile_ as the wormy individual she had just encountered. Nothing about Éomer was oily, or unpleasant, even if he caused her to feel uncomfortably hot with desire.

The hallway seemed to shrink with his presence, making him seem even more massively tall and well-built. He towered over them, eyes lingering on the man's hand around Gwen's wrist. He was not happy. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. It was much better to be uncomfortable with Éomer than with this other man. Éomer, at least, had no interest in harming her.

"Unhand this woman before I break every finger you possess," Éomer hissed as he bore down into the other man's space, the thread of sound he produced low and deadly even to her ears. He certainly looked capable of carrying out his threat in short order. Gwen recalled what Éowyn had told her about him: that he was a Marshal of Rohan, which meant he was a leader of men as well as a skilled warrior, commanding an entire cavalry of soldiers in battle. She remembered how he had looked astride his horse, clad in all his armor. He certainly looked the part of dangerous warrior then and now, with thick, roping muscles all over his chest and arms and thighs. Though he carried no weapon, Gwen had a feeling he didn't really need one. The menace he radiated was weapon enough, and perhaps his hands were another. Still, she was delighted to see that he was scowling blackly down at the shorter man. If there was one man in the whole hall who was capable of freeing her from the strange man currently holding her against her will, it was Éomer.

Gwen was quickly discovering his mercurial temper, however. Éomer towered over the other man threateningly, and over her as well, effectively trapping her between them. He cocked his head mockingly down at Gríma, and his nose was flared out as he stared him down. She wondered if Éomer knew he did that. The grip on her hand tightened even more in response to the threat the warrior presented, causing her bones to grind painfully within her wrist. Gwen gasped at the pain, drawing Éomer's dangerously darkened gaze to her face. Heart still pounding furiously at the whole situation, she gaped between the two men, wondering if they would come to blows with her in the middle. Her leg ached furiously, and she was helpless to do anything but sag against the wall as the confrontation played out.

Gwen studied Éomer from her close vantage. There was something about being in Éomer's presence that caused her to mentally grow alert, and that made every fiber aware of him and paying close attention to each move he made. Even now, she was waiting for the strike that was sure to come from him. Something told her to be wary of him, because he was just as dangerous as Gríma, though in a different way. She brushed off her odd thoughts impatiently, thinking they were more a result of being rattled at Gríma's unwelcome advances than Éomer himself.

The whole situation had been tickling Gwen's fight-or-flight reactions from the beginning, and her instincts urged her to flee especially now, with the big warrior nearly as close to her as the stranger was. It confused her greatly to feel that way about a man who had done nothing but help her, but there it was. Éomer, and how she reacted to him, scared the hell out of her. Gwen hastily drew her eyes away from Éomer's masculine figure, not liking where her thoughts were going at all. Éomer had no interest in harming her.

Gríma, for his part, stared nastily up at the warrior, clearly disdainful of the raw power the warrior wielded. "She is not spoken for," he informed the other man gleefully, delight roving over his weak features. "And she has no protector." His words stabbed the air around the three of them in punctuated bursts. Gwen wondered what he meant – she didn't need a protector, did she? "I am within my rights to take her under our most ancient laws, as you well know," he crowed, eyes gleaming as if he had won.

Gwen paled, aghast, realizing the potential implications of those words. _Just what does that mean, though? What laws?_ Éomer's face tightened perceptibly, eyes flickering from the man to her, where they lingered and traced her face, reading the fear that pinched there. A moment later, Éomer's whole posture changed. He pulled her into solid strength of his body, flush against him, forcing Gríma to come too, since he wouldn't release her arm.

Gwen was confused by his actions, but she didn't have time to protest. He crossed his arms over her body, and bent his head to place a single kiss on her neck where it met her shoulder. The unexpected intimacy sent shivers down Gwen's spine, but she did not protest, instinctively knowing something was going on here that she did not understand. After a moment, Gríma's eyes flashed dangerously, and he began to curse and spit. Gwen was able to move away from Éomer, and she looked back at him curiously, with a fair bit of confusion laced in her gaze. "No, no, no, no," The shorter man growled, but he dropped her arm like a hot potato. Éomer was watching the other man with something akin to blatant satisfaction, leaning into the wall nonchalantly, taking her with him, as if he posed no great threat to either of them. The motion emphasized his great strength. He tossed his head angrily at the other man's words.

"You think so?" Éomer chuckled darkly with black humor, clear suggestion in every line of his face. Gwen was confused, but at least she wasn't being touched anymore. "I brought her here; she is under _my_ protection, Gríma," he growled, all humor leaving his features. "Best you not forget it." His words were low and threatening, and face was deadly serious. His voice was a thread of sound in the empty corridor, and it seemingly stunned the shorter man out of his bravado. His face twisted with anger and it almost amused her to see the swirls of color move in and out of his face. Gwen, for her part, was grateful, and yet indignant as well. _I don't need protection from this slimy bastard!_

Normally that would be true. But she hadn't forgotten the feel of his hand around her wrist yet.

She studied the unpleasant man. _I'm pretty sure I could kick his ass just fine if I had Burningstar._ Remembering her weapons, Gwen felt a pang of distress. She still hadn't found them, and Éowyn had not seen them either. _I sure hope Aragorn has them._ Gwen was brought back to the present when Gríma made an angry sound, reaching for her, and Éomer snarled at him, coming within inches of the other man's face. "Away from her. _Now._ "

It seemed the other man had gotten the message loud and clear, much to Gwen's relief. He turned with one last furious look and fled down the corridor, leaving her alone with her tall, intimidating savior. Gwen ignored her instinct to turn and flee as well, and craned her neck to look up into his still hostile face, relief evident on her features. "Thank you so much," she breathed. Éomer's gaze left the fleeing man and flickered to hers; his features losing much of the anger that had been there, leaving his face curiously blank. Gwen caught a hint of disapproval in his eyes. He looked pissed off in a whole new way as he stared down at her.

"I did not bring you here so that you could become a slave to dark magic – least of all under that foul man," He reprimanded with a thread of anger laced in his tone. The stern words were a clear chastisement, and Gwen flinched. _It's not like I asked to be spoken to!_ His words made her feel five years old again. The attractiveness of his features was made no less by her shame, however, and her awareness of him just made her angry. Still, she was unable to form words against him when he was so close to her, invading her personal space much like the other man had moments ago.

The only difference being her reaction, which was quite a bit more pleasant.

"Be more aware of yourself and others, girl," Éomer rumbled softly near her ear. He looked like he wanted to shake her, clenching his hands at his sides. "This hall is not safe even for allies, and were I you, I would not go beyond my chambers unescorted," he said as his breath tickled her neck. Neverminding that Éowyn had said it was safe. Gwen had a feeling he would not care what his sister had told her. "There are many dishonorable men that walk these halls of late." Gwen stared up at him, wondering in that moment if he was one of them. A moment later she discarded the thought – he had gotten her here when he hadn't had to, hadn't he? She licked her lips nervously when their eyes met.

The warrior's pupils dilated and his iris' darkened. Gwen found the automatic action fascinating. With a pang of realization, she was forced to admit that she found this man wildly attractive. More than that, even. As close as they were in that moment, there was a small part of her that wanted him to kiss her, and in her mind's eye, she imagined him doing just that here in the abandoned corridor. The wave of lust that followed broke over her with a crash that shook her to her knees. Gwen would have fallen over completely with the shock of that sudden, expected emotion had she not been already leaning against the wall.

After a moment he broke their shared gaze and moved by her, brushing her only with the barest of touches, and Gwen caught the smell of cedar and smoke around him. It sent shivers of awareness down her that she had never felt before, not even when Glorfindel kissed her so long ago in Rivendell. _Oh. My. God._ Confused and wholly threatened by the new sensation he created in her, Gwen eased her other hip against the sturdy wood panel beside her, slowly taking her weight from her wounded leg with a low hiss of dual relief and pain. His heavy footfalls echoed down the corridor as he strode away from her, but an awareness bolted through her again, this time for an innocent reason. She turned carefully, mindful of her leg. "Lord Éomer!" she called down the hall, hoping he would stop.

He turned, capturing her with his striking green-yellow gaze once more. For a moment there was silence between them, and he waited for her to speak with an eyebrow cocked indolently. "Thank you...for bringing me here, before," she said, cursing her stutters. "I know you didn't have to." He nodded over his shoulder before continuing down the empty hallway. Long after he was out of sight, Gwen let out a shuddering breath, allowing the tremors she felt to shudder through her to her toes. _So much for staying away from the man._

Now she wanted to do something far worse than stay away from him. _And that would be the stupidest thing you ever did, Gwen, even if he wanted you, too!_ Mentally smacking herself, Gwen made her way slowly back to her quarters, cursing herself with every step.

* * *

Later that night, Gwen found another specter inside Meduseld.

She had been looking for Éowyn since her encounter with her brother, wanting to tell her about it, and had finally found her inside the chamber next to Gwen's own. Gwen would never have seen her had the door not been ajar an inch. The dimly lit room was overly warm and needing a good airing-out, but it was evident that someone inside was very ill. Gingerly aware that whomever was laying in that bed was very dear to the Rhohirric woman, Gwen knocked softly on the door, and Éowyn's fair head came up in sudden awareness that she was not alone, startled from her vigil. Seeing who it was, she motioned Gwen inside, wiping her tears from her cheeks unashamedly.

Gwen hesitated, not wanting to intrude upon the scene. At Éowyn's urging, she pattered softly into the room. Her heart went out to the woman who had helped her so selflessly and deftly to heal, only to lose a loved one herself. A handsome, if sallow, man was stretched out in the bed, and from under the covers his strength looked greatly diminished. _This must be Th_ é _odred, her cousin._ Éowyn had spoken at length about the attack Saruman's orcs had mounted at the Fords of Isen, that had gravely wounded her cousin, who was the heir of Rohan. It seemed she had lost all hope for his survival at this point.

Gwen took the chair next to Éowyn's, laying a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, and shared in silent companionship with the struggling, hurting woman. There were no words she could offer for this situation. The man in the bed was sweating and pale, and his hands shook on the bed covers. It seemed to Gwen that each moment his heart beat was agony. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and for a time Gwen sat counting the seconds between his rattling gasps.

"Théodred was the one who comforted me, when I first came to Meduseld after my mother died," Éowyn began after nearly half an hour of silence. Gwen's eyes met hers, compassionate and silent, as she spoke in hushed, low tones. It was clear Éowyn needed to someone to listen to her, now more than ever. Because their late night talks had grown so familiar, this was no hardship for either woman. They were becoming friends, and friends supported one another when they were needed.

"I had only Éomer, then," she explained with a half smile, "and I was so afraid of coming here and angering the king with my grief." She raised blue-gray eyes to meet Gwen's, laughing at the memory softly. "I didn't know at the time how wonderful my uncle truly was. Théodred found me in my new chamber, crying on the bed." Her eyes grew misty, not with tears, but with memories. "I was _so_ afraid of these halls," she said, eyes lifting to take in the expansive room. "They were much bigger than I was used to, you see." Gwen _did_ see. Éowyn loved this man like a brother.

The humor leeched from her eyes as Éowyn looked upon her cousin laying so weakly in the bed. "Instead of admonishing me as Éomer would have done, he crossed to the bed and held me as I wept." Éowyn placed her own milk-white hand over her cousin's and squeezed. "He was so kind, and gentle. Not like Éomer at all," she laughed, glancing at Gwen a moment before returning her eyes to her cousin. "He hadn't had to be," She whispered, caressing his hot skin.

"I think he empathized with me. His own mother died in childbirth, and he never knew her at all." Her long golden tresses spilled over her shoulders and into her face as she bent, and she turned to look at Gwen fiercely. "He had such _life_ inside him – more than any man I've known, even Éomer," she continued. "He was always laughing, playing jokes on Éomer with me. He did things to the fullest – from the simplest conversation to the fiercest battle." For a moment, she could see another similarity between Éowyn and her brother in her eyes. "And he was no less a warrior than my brother, Gwen," she wept fiercely. Desperation crept into her eyes when they met again.

"And now he's dying! I cannot save him," she cried. Tears crept back into her voice until it broke, and Éowyn's head fell to the bed as she wept. "He will die, and it will be my fault," she sobbed. Gwen, moved by the woman's pain, rubbed Éowyn's back comfortingly, murmuring nonsensically. There were no words she could have said to make her feel better, but Gwen wished there were, and she felt as if she should say _something._ As last she said, "I know no words that can take your pain from you, Éowyn." She looked at the man on the bed, and could see the specter of death around him. _This man doesn't have long to live_ _._

But it was clear that Éowyn was worn out. Between caring for Gwen after her arrival and her cousin for many days longer than that, Éowyn had neglected her own health severely. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her strength was frail and drawn. Gwen drew Éowyn's hand from her cousin's, holding it firmly with her own, their fingers weaved. She was offering her strength to a grieving friend. The other woman picked up her head, tears clinging to her blond lashes, surprised at Gwen's movement. "Your cousin knows you did your best by him, Éowyn, and I know you will not let his memory be forgotten," Gwen said, trying to give some comfort to the other woman. "I am sure, too, that he would not want you to waste away at his side along with him." She paused, letting her words sink in. Éowyn's eyes came away from her cousin then, and looked at her with dawning understanding. Grief made people forget so much. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept?" Gwen asked.

Éowyn sighed, rising from the bed to lean back in the chair with a heaviness that worried her, considering Gwen's words. Finally, she wiped her eyes with a sigh. "It has been many days since I've rested beyond the nap here and there. And food? I've had very little today," she admitted. Gwen considered the other woman, who rung her hands together in distress. "But I could not leave Théodred!" she cried. "He could die at any moment, and I would not want him to be alone..." She let out a breath of air harshly, and pulled her hand from Gwen's to rub at her face tiredly.

"I could sit with him." Gwen offered, but realized too late that this might be considered an insult to Théodred if she did so. Hastily, she added, "Only if you want, Éowyn. It is the least I can do for you and your family for helping me so much." Éowyn met her gaze, conflictingly. "I do not know..." She sighed, and Gwen caught the faint tremor around her mouth. "I _am_ very weary."

Finally, after some inner battle had been waged, Éowyn stood. "You are sure you do not mind sitting with him?" Gwen assured her she did not. "And you will call for me the instant something changes?" Gwen shook her head affirmatively, grasping Éowyn's cold hand gently, looking up at the woman from the chair. "I promise. Go rest." She turned her attention back to the bed, scooting her chair a little closer and grasping the man's clammy hand. Éowyn bent over the bed to wipe sweaty hair from the man's face, speaking softly to him in a rough, lilting language before kissing his brow lovingly.

 _She must be speaking Rhohirric._

Boromir had once told her of the people of Rohan, and their simple ways. Though the Gondorian had been faintly haughty when he spoke of these people and their 'roughly-hewn language,' Gwen found Éowyn's soft, unknown words rather beautiful. The lady straightened and nodded to Gwen, her eyes grateful. "You have a kind heart, Gwen," she said. "I..thank you for this." She seemed overcome with emotion. Gwen smiled gently, understanding how difficult this must be for her. "Your cousin will not be alone tonight." Éowyn nodded and hesitated only a moment before sweeping from the room, leaving Gwen alone with the dying man. With sad eyes, she contemplated the man laying so still upon the bed, unable to see no matter how hard she tried the man Éowyn had spoken so fondly of.

It made her sad – for both of them.

* * *

 _I can only imagine how confusing Gwen's reactions to Éomer are for her...poor girl. It's so easy to forget that she's IS only eighteen AND from another world in which men and women are expected to mature more slowly. She is unique in that she IS a mature young woman, but I would think all this romance and intrigue would be hard for her to deal with at first. I hope that I conveyed the complexity and confusion of healthy, normal lust/awareness of a man in a young, (innocent) woman. Their romance will be (as I picture it) deeply emotional, passionate, and visceral, as Gwen is a girl that feels a great deal, even if she doesn't fully understand or recognize those feelings, and likewise, Éomer is a complex, red-blooded man (and nearly a decade older!). The slow build up will be painful for everyone, but I want to make it as believable as possible. More to come._

 _Please review._


	37. The King's Order

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Gwen is mine.  
**

 _So sorry that this update is a day late! Work is starting up again, and with my husband deploying soon I'm soaking up as much time with him as I can. Thank you all for your continued support!_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Six: The King's Order**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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The night was quiet, and still. Gwen watched the flames in the hearth leap and hiss through the clumps of peat piled high in the small space, contemplating life and death, and what her future might hold. The hall had grown quiet as the evening lengthened. Those who normally bustled about the halls and corridors had long since retired to their beds, even many of the servants. The silence of the room was broken only by the low popping of the fire and a dying man's low, shallow breaths. Flickering light from a single candelabrum on a high table, together with the fire, cast the room in many long shadows.

Gwen sat, performing a solemn, silent vigil to a dying man. In her entire life, Gwen had never seen a dying person outside of a movie; Théodred's unconscious moans and constant rattling wheezes brought home the utter horror of a person's final days, and that the quick and bloody death of movies was wholly unrealistic outside of battle – in fact, those who did in such a manner were supremely lucky. This man was dying a slow, lingering, painful death – one she was sure had to be ill fitting to his life.

Many men had visited the fallen heir to Rohan's throne since Gwen had taken a seat by his bed, and all of them had left with tears in their eyes. It was clear Théodred was very loved by the people here, and not just his siblings. When a particularly deep rattling cough sent the prince into fits under the covers, Gwen looked up from her writing, hand stilling on the page. Gwen placed the quill back into the ink pot and rose from her place of watch beside the bed to lay a cool hand on his sallow skin, crying out softly when the heat of his flesh seared her skin. _He's so hot!_

The prince's gasping breaths grew markedly more labored as the moments passed. Silently, Gwen turned to the bowl of herb-laced water placed on the bedside table, wetting a thick cotton rag. She let the mixture soak into the cloth before squeezing gently and pulling it from the bowl, praying that the cold would bring him a small measure of relief even in his dreams. The poor man cried out raggedly when the cool cloth touched his skin, and his limbs jerked, bringing tears to her eyes. _Sweet merciful God, let this man pass in peace._

Gently, she pressed the cloth to his head before turning to wet another for his neck. Silently she worked to cool his body enough for deep sleep, knowing from her studies with Elrond that a high fever over many days could – and eventually would – destroy a man's mind completely. Thinking of Elrond's lessons caused her to remember Lord Celeborn's parting gift to her – the book on healing. Gwen stood over the bed, contemplating. _There isn't anything I can do that Éowyn hasn't already tried – her knowledge of healing is greater than my own, but perhaps there is something within its pages that might could be used to send him into a peaceful sleep until the end._

Casting a glance at the man now laying still on the bed, Gwen swiftly rose and went to retrieve her pack, searching through it for the book. Though she was gone only moments, she felt guilty for leaving his side at all. In the low candlelight, she searched the elven text for passages with anything that could help, but very little of this book concerned sleeping or unconsciousness – its focus, from what she could tell, was in battle wounds and triage care. _But you knew that, didn't you?_ Disappointed, Gwen closed the book and set it aside. She stood from the chair, replacing the cool cloths that had heated on his skin. Grasping his hot, limp hand in her own cooler ones, Gwen sat again, determined to keep her promise to Éowyn no matter if she saw this man pass before her eyes or not.

It was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

* * *

As the candlelight faded and she could no longer see well enough to write, Gwen began to speak to the dying prince, telling him of beautiful things she could remember from Earth: the Grand Canyon, the great redwoods that grew to amazing heights, the crystal clear water of the California coast. Her voice was a low thread of sound, barely audible over the crackling of the fire; she did not know if he could hear her, or if even in his deepest of minds he could understand her, but she feared in the silence he would think himself alone. Her cynical side told her that he would know no difference, but still she prattled on until her voice grew thready with weariness, and her throat ached. For a moment silence filled the room when she paused, save only for the low, intermittent rattle of his breaths. He seemed to be struggling, gasping for breath, and when she check his pulse it was thready and weak. His hand clutched hers reflexively, and Gwen knew he didn't have long left. _I need to get Éowyn. Now._

Gwen wrenched her hand away from his and rushed from the room, her wounded leg protesting the haste with which she moved, but it didn't cause her pain she couldn't handle. Two guards were patrolling the corridors, and they paused, calling out when they saw her. "My lady, we have been looking for you," one of them said with a queer look on his face. Gwen stopped in front of them, confused. The guards, both red-headed and brawny, shared a look. "I apologize for the early hour, Lady Gwendolyn, but King Théoden has requested your presence in the hall." Gwen stared at at them, shocked, first at their knowledge of her name, and second because of their purpose. _Why would the King of Rohan want to see me in the early hours of any day?_ _And what about Théodred?_ Gwen nodded, "Of course, if it is that urgent," she agreed. "I can't imagine why I would be wanted." The guards shared another look. Before they started towards the throne room, Gwen stopped them hastily.

"Please, wait!" she cried, throwing her hands up to keep them from moving. "I was with Lord Théodred in Lady Éowyn's absence, and...well, he's not doing well," she said, eyes growing dark with concern. "Someone will need to tell her I have left his side since I cannot." The taller guard bowed his head, accepting her request and immediately heading for the woman's chambers. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief that the prince would not be alone, and went with the remaining guard without a problem. _I wonder what the King wants with me? I surely can't have done anything._ Worry clenched her stomach, but she didn't have long to wait to find out: the guard led her into an amazing vaulted hall, and they walked together toward the King, who sat upon a raised dais.

She saw immediately that they were not alone. Éomer waited beside him, his body tight with anger and alarmingly surrounded by guards, staring fiercely at the King. She saw immediately why: upon the dais, next to the dilapidated, aged royal crouched Gríma, looking malicious and scarily triumphant. _I don't have a good feeling about this at all._ Ignoring him completely, Gwen anxiously looked at the King, horrified at his terrible appearance. His skin was crusty, aged, and yellowed, and his hair was thin and unkempt. His beard was long like Gandalf's, but not nearly as well kept or clean. There was an obvious aura of malaise around this man, and yet he didn't seem ill so much as – devoid of life. _This cannot be the King!_

Gwen recoiled unconsciously at the sight, recalling Éowyn's warning to stay away from the throne room, and Éomer's words that the halls were not safe. Obviously the King was not well. She observed Gríma with a shudder, sure that his glee could not be a good thing. Something told her he was responsible for all of this, somehow. The guard came to attention in front of the King, bowing formally. "The lady, as requested," he murmured, staring into his boots in a way that spoke of reticence rather than deference.

Gríma looked delighted to see her, as if their earlier, unpleasant encounter never happened. "My lady," he greeted her in that oily way of his, with beady eyes roving all around her. "It is good to see you again," he said. Gwen scowled, immediately on edge in reaction to this queer capriciousness he was showing. _This is why they called me down here? For small talk?_ "What is going on?" she asked cautiously, hands clenching into fists. "Why have I been summoned?" She glanced at Éomer, not surprised to see him scowling blackly at the rodent-faced man.

Clearly he was having trouble holding himself back, and the guards around him were having trouble holding _him._ The big warrior's anger spewed out in the form of words, interrupting the other man's reply. "Yes, Gríma," he spat, his handsome features twisting into something ugly and vicious. "Tell her why she has been summoned." Éomer practically bit out the words, the sound of them harsh and mocking. It was clear he was furious, and Gwen grew even more agitated.

Gríma rose from the King's side, grinning maliciously as his eyes flickered between them. "Lord Éomer has been banished by the King," he crowed happily, even clasping his hands together in an imitation of a clap. His proclamation made Gwen's head spin. _What the fuck? I thought they were relatives! I thought he was a Marshal!_ Gwen looked back and forth between the two men, horrified. Why would the King do such a thing? But looking at the ruler, Gwen surmised that he wasn't exactly in his own right mind, either. Still, something was incredibly wrong here, and it centered on the vile little man in front of her. Éomer was struggling even more now. Muscles bulged as he fought to free himself, but it was of no consequence. She would have been impressed by his show of strength had she not been terrified of why she was involved in this to begin with.

Gríma looked as if he could break into a dance at any moment, and she _knew_ he had something to do with this. _First Théodred and now Éomer? What the fuck is wrong with the King to let this happen? Éowyn will be devastated._ "That's preposterous!" Gwen cried, staring at the King, who had made no reaction to this order he had supposedly given. _Gríma_. Her eyes darted to the horrible man's face, her thoughts racing. _This is about earlier – yesterday!_ But how had he done it? Gwen looked at the King again, contemplating their connection, quite sure she understood. _Éomer said that Gríma had something to do with dark magic – and the King must be under some kind of spell. The way Éowyn spoke of her uncle, he couldn't have willingly sent his family away._ Gwen knew this was her fault – Gríma had wanted her for something. She didn't want to contemplate what he wanted her for. But, Éomer had gotten in the way somehow – because of her. _He's being sent away because of me. Well shit._

Gwen looked to Éomer sadly, with horror-stricken eyes, telling him silently that she was sorry. His face remained a blank slate, but she knew he had to be very angry with her. Gwen's last question remained, however; what did she have to do with this now? Returning her attention to the terrible man coldly, Gwen asked, "My question still has not been answered. Why have I been summoned?"Gríma stepped down from the dais then, circling her like a shark, seeking to frighten her with his closeness. Gwen suppressed a shudder. She refused to be intimidated, and watched him with her best stoic face, coldly.

 _Men like him feed off fear._

She stared sightlessly beyond the man, interested only in why she had been called to this little meeting. Finally, the man explained, gleefully spitting out the words like darts at a dartboard. "You are under Lord Éomer's protection, of course," his eyes flickered, glittering with a mix of anger and glee. "And he has been banished." His smirking smile made Gwen itch to slap his sallow skin. He was coming closer to her, and she had to resist the urge to retreat. "Thus, you have two choices: you can choose to enjoy the protection of another here in Meduseld, or," he emphasized, eyes glinting, "You can choose to go with him from this stronghold into the dangerous wilds." Gwen could see what he expected her to choose. Gríma clasped his hands together in front of his stringy form, pleased that he had managed to back her into a corner. He looked disgustingly confident and sure in her decision. _Yeah, cause who wants to go without shelter in the dead of winter?_

It was a death sentence, truly. Between the blistering cold and scarcity of food, and the dangers of the wild lands, even a warrior like Éomer would struggle. Hatred, strong and hot, filled her for this man. Gwen was emotionally ragged as it was already – she wanted her parents, her friends, and she had likely just watched a man take his last breaths. Dealing with this disgusting excuse for a man would take the patience of a saint, and she surely didn't have it today. Gríma was utterly repugnant, and for a moment Gwen's composure faltered, and her rising anger spewed forth. She threw herself into his face in an explosion of movement, ignoring the pain that shot up her leg. Gwen was spitting mad, and the unexpectedness of her body jolting his knocked Gríma backwards. "Just who the fuck do you think you are, you slimy bastard?" she snarled. Gwen was unaware that her face had grown splotchy with anger, and that body practically hummed with it. She resisted the guards furiously when they approached to remove her, but she was no match for them physically.

Gríma looked shaken and scared at her assault, and also surprised.

The guards unhanded her, but continued to watch her warily. Gwen wasn't even the slightest bit paying attention, even as they dogged her steps toward the revolting, dark-clad figure. "Did you think I would choose to let you 'protect' me, in return for being able to stay here?" She laughed derisively in his face, seeing clearly that he, did, in fact, believe that she would choose to go with him. Her fury grew with every word she spoke. _Men like him are a waste of good air._ "My body is worth _so much_ more than that, you pig," Gwen taunted, even unsure as to her purpose for him. She hoped it would enrage him, nonetheless. Gríma, and even Éomer, looked shocked at her outburst. "You must think me twelve kinds of a fool," she scoffed. "I would never," she wrenched her arm from the last guard's grasp, stabbing towards him to emphasize her words, " _ever_ put myself under your keeping. You slimy fucking _bastard! I'd rather die._ "

The last word echoed through the hall. She had stunned everyone to silence, and to her disgust, Gwen could see Gríma shaking with fear, having collapsed back up the dais. The guards made little effort to stop her from turning and walking down the hall towards the entrance through which she had come. She kept her head held high. Gríma had the audacity to call out angrily, "If you are not out of Edoras by mid-morning, the King shall have you put to death!" Gwen turned, blood in her eyes, silent. She stared at him from across the room, shaking with rage.

"We better get going then, shouldn't we, Lord Éomer?" She looked pointedly at the guards who held him, and, understanding her intention, released him quickly. The big man moved towards her, his eyes curiously dim, his long legs eating up the ground between them. His leonine face was sharp and pinched with his anger, which she hoped was not directed at her. Gwen turned and hobbled through the entrance towards her room.

She would need her pack if she was leaving, so she started down the hall toward her own chambers. Éomer caught her up with her quickly, his manner all brisk, angry business. "We need to leave, now," he informed her brusquely. "There is no time to speak to anyone." His urgency made her nervous. Gwen didn't stop moving, but glanced up at his handsome face, barely registering his words. It was beginning to sink in that she was a _fugitive_. What would Aragorn and the others think when they got here and found her gone?!

Still, in the moment, Gwen couldn't afford to dwell on what the logistics of being banished meant for her. It was more important that they leave quickly. She nodded up at Éomer as she limped along. "I know. I'm getting my pack and we can leave," she replied. Fury still rode her hard; Gwen couldn't believe the audacity the slimy fucker had shown by using the ill King to do his dirty work. " _Fucking_ piece of shit," she cursed out loud, not caring that she sounded odd as hell to everyone who heard her.

Gwen was taken aback when the much larger man stopped her in her tracks with a firm hand to her shoulder, and she looked up at him questioningly. He started down at her with critical eyes. "I know your leg is bothering you," he said. There was no mocking in his voice, only a careful neutrality and statement of fact. Gwen nodded, knowing she was hobbling like an old woman. "My leg isn't fully healed yet," she replied, before taking another step. Gwen gasped when he suddenly swept her up into his arms without a warning. Breath puffing out of her chest at the sudden movement, she grasped his shoulder for stability.

"I can walk, you know," she murmured into the wall of his chest, even as the aching from her leg dulled significantly now that she was off her feet. Gwen knew it was foolhardy to struggle against a man like Éomer, anyway. Instead, she thumped him on the chest when he ignored her words and didn't reply, but he did not react at all to her movement. His grip tightened on her knees perceptibly, and his features flickered with his own temper. His long legs swept them over the floor quickly, despite her weight in his arms. "I realize that," he rumbled, the vibration of his words in his chest bleeding into her. "But it will be faster like this," Éomer finished. A moment later, he pushed open the door to her chamber with a shoulder, placing her down on her feet and looking around for her pack.

"Where are your things?" he asked her, throwing an impatient look over his shoulder. Even as hurried and thrumming with nerves as she was at that moment, Gwen could still appreciate the picture he presented, standing so tall and muscular there, with his long hair thrown over one shoulder as he looked at her. After a heartbeat, Gwen registered his question and remembered Théodred. Horrified that she had forgotten him, she paled. "In Théodred's room," Gwen stuttered, growing red. She hobbled to the door and into the Prince's room. A servant was stoking the fire there, but Éowyn was nowhere to be seen. _Fuck!_ The guards hadn't gone and gotten her like they said they would. Gwen cursed their deception.

"Where is Lady Éowyn?" Gwen demanded of the servant, who yelped with fright at the sudden interruption of her duties. Éomer nearly barreled into Gwen from behind when he, too, entered the room, scaring the servant, but she managed a reply: "The lady is sleeping, my lady. I was called by King Théoden's guards to watch over the Prince until she wakes."

 _Shit._ So not the same thing as getting Éowyn! Gwen looked over at the dying man, relief coursing through her when she saw he was still alive, if barely so. Éomer grabbed her pack and pushed her out into the corridor forcefully, causing Gwen to scowl up at his high-handedness. "Stop pushing me around, damn it!" she cried, stumbling a little when she lost her balance. The big warrior considered her for a moment before sweeping her up into his arms effortlessly again, his features impassive. Gwen opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off when Éomer cut her off. "There is no time," he said. Don't you hear the guards?" His voice was perfectly cool and logical, but his rudeness made her already heated blood simmer.

Still, Gwen froze in his arms as she focused on her hearing, and indeed, the sound of heavy footfalls on the wooden floors was just audible. Coming closer, too. "They would kill you?" she whispered. "...Us?" She looked into his face, trying to read the hardened features she found there, afraid of the answer. Éomer glanced down at her, the green of his eyes radiating in the sconce-lit corridor. "They would if the King ordered it," he answered grimly.

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 _Please review._


	38. Exiled, Part 1

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Thank you to all who take the time to review – it is quite possibly the best feeling ever to open one's mailbox and find ten or so review alerts among the junk. Truly, my readers, you are awesome! Quickie story note: from here, my dates may differ from Tolkien's original. For this, I apologize, but it was necessary for plot continuation. Enjoy :)_

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Seven: Exiled, Part One**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _March 3rd,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

By the time they reached the outskirts of Edoras, Gwen was quite convinced Éomer was the most frustrating, domineering man in existence. _And that's being lenient!_ He was wholly determined to have things done _his_ way. She now bounced against his chain mail armor, irritation still plain on her face for all to see. First, he had insisted that they take only one horse instead of two, saying that it would save time and effort in traveling if they rode together. Gwen could respect the logic of his argument, but she still hadn't relished the idea of riding with him on a horse for God knew how many hours. So, they had ridden out of Edoras in the early hours of the morning on a single horse, into the Westfold, seeking his merry band of men in one of the outer villages. Gwen had wanted to seek out Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, but the hardened warrior had denied that request, too. Each mile they covered sent her anxiety ratcheting skyward. _What if Aragorn comes to Edoras to look for me and I'm not there? What will he be told?_

Gwen learned quickly enough that Éomer was a hard, harsh taskmaster. They traveled nonstop for most of the day, until every step of the horse under them had her panting in pain. Her wounded thigh rubbed against the saddle with every stroke of the horse's hooves. She had first requested they stop three hours ago, as the pain began to become unbearable, and had again over and over many times since, but the horse lord had refused to consider it. It was like he had _forgotten_ she was wounded and unused to riding a horse. Gwen recognized his urgency – hell, they had been banished under pain of death if they returned, but the pace at which he set was fast becoming cruel. She was in serious pain, and had to pee like no one's business.

Not to mention being pressed up against him so intimately this whole time was doing strange things to her thoughts. All Gwen could think about with each bounce of the horse over the terrain was what his unyielding body would feel like covering hers. Heavy, probably. And hot. Pressed as she was against his thighs and torso, Gwen missed nothing at all about his bulky, hard physique, and each brush of an arm, a thigh, or his head down by her ear whenever he bent to speak to her made her crazy. _Lust is for the birds_. Still, she couldn't help the flames of desire that being around him had ignited in her from the first moment she had truly been in his presence. _Don't think about the first time you saw him, Gwen_ , she told herself, knowing that mortifying instance would be burned forever in her brain. He had seen her _naked_.

Yet he hadn't shown even a glint of desire for her. If he could do it, she could do it, damn it. _Game face, Gwen!_ Damn, but she had to pee. Not even the memory of that mortifying moment when Éomer had seen her bare in the bed two days after bringing her to Edoras could prevent her bladder from calling out a demand to _stop moving the fucking horse_.

"If I lose my bladder on this horse, it'll be your fault!" she cried out finally, the words almost immediately was lost in the wind, but Gwen could tell he heard her from the way his hands tightened around her on the reins. Éomer pulled her back against his securely, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he bent to reply. "Do not make me tan your hide. Be still and _stop wriggling,_ " he snarled. Gwen wrenched her body away from his in dual annoyance and defiance. _Be still, humph. How am I supposed to do that on a horse, exactly?_ _Gwen_ suspected he thought she was being a whiny brat, and maybe she was. But, she was cold, hungry, and utterly miserable and had been for the last few hours. Not even Éomer's big body could keep her warm after hours in the cold morning air, though he radiated heat like a furnace. It was growing harder and harder to stay properly seated as she grew more stiff and sore on the horse's back.

Big hands let go of the reins and clasped her firmly into stillness, shoving her down and into the curve of his body with ease. Gwen barely bit off a groan of agony as her thigh throbbed with the deepest pain yet. Éomer held her still with one arm, and Gwen cried out when the horse under her undulated against her wounded thigh, chafing it and making it feel as if every stitch was being torn from her flesh. The big horse lord held her to him easily, and her every effort to move was resisted by his strength. Gwen hoped he didn't realize how much he was hurting her, but it wasn't like she could just come out and ask him.

Long moments passed, with Gwen doing everything in her power to ease the pain her leg, to no avail. Finally, with a snarl of displeasure, Éomer slowed Firefoot to a trot, signaling with his thighs that the creature turn towards a small copse of trees a short ways away. His harsh breaths expanded his chest behind her, and Gwen was very aware of his muscular thighs undulating behind hers as he steered the beast more carefully than before. The horse came to a stop and the big warrior swiftly dismounted, his golden hair whipping in a sudden strong gust of cold, winter air that had her trembling. Standing next to the massive horse, Éomer looked up at her, his features frustated. "We cannot afford to stop, you ridiculous creature!" he snarled at her, in ill temper. His eyes flashed with it. "What do you not understand about that?"

As he struggled to control his frustration with her, she struggled not to cry tears of pain. She had never felt such crippling agony, even when she had first received the wound. Éomer noticed the sheen in her eyes and cursed blackly in his own language, shaking his head like a stallion and flaring his nose, clearly agitated. "Do not cry, girl, for pity's sake," He sighed, shaking his head again. Gwen thought she saw a twinge of remorse in his eyes. "We can rest for a little while."

He pulled her down from the horse, his gentle hands belying his rough, angry demeanor and words. Pain bolted down her leg and a strange weakness entered into her knee. He set her to her feet and her legs immediately buckled under the weight of her body. There was no way she could stand on her own. Éomer caught her against him immediately, their bodies brushing in their closeness, and Gwen craned her neck to meet his suddenly concerned gaze. "What is wrong with you, girl?" Éomer asked gently, and the care in his eyes made her feel suddenly warm. It was so confusing, the dichotomy of his wicked temper and gentle tenderness. She didn't have the energy to figure him out.

He was very tall next to her, and solid. She didn't reach even his chest; standing next to him made her feel tiny and vulnerable. A rush of heat filled her up as they stood together, Gwen struggling to stand on her own feet. _I am not some blubbering fucking child, and I hate that is what he sees!_ _She had her pride, and Gwen had no desire for such a man as he to see her like a weakling._ She told herself that she would handle it all better after a few moments rest.

Her legs trembled under her weight, and understanding suddenly dawned in Éomer's eyes. Smoothly he knelt, his hands and head suddenly at her knees, his movements brisk and seeking. "Hold on to the horse," he commanded, and began pulling up her dress implacably. Gwen was stunned by his sudden actions and gasped, "Don't!" All she could see in that moment was him stripping her bare altogether, and the thought made her flush with heat. Gwen wished she could think clearly around the man. She stopped his hands before they could progress past her knees, her fingers small upon his corded, muscular wrists. The warrior looked up at her, his gaze snapping to hers impatiently, though Gwen thought she saw a gleam of humor in his eyes.

"I am not trying to seduce you," he said. "I am inspecting your wound." His much larger hands effectively tossed aside her own and rolled Éowyn's pretty white dress up to mid thigh. "I forgot that you were healing," he said regretfully, green eyes snapping up to hers a moment before flickering down to her smooth, exposed legs once more. It had never occurred to Gwen that showing one's legs could be sensual, but with Éomer in such a position it sure felt like it should be. He placed her hands around her rolled up dress to hold it out of his way. Firefoot was a blessed warmth at her back, and he stood placidly behind her as she leaned on him, unable to believe this man's hands were upon her skin. She had to get control of herself. All this time she had spent around nine other men, and she had never had this kind of reaction to any of them. What was it about this man that affected her so strongly and so quickly?

She didn't trust her reaction. It was too strong, too consuming. Not for the first time, Gwen reminded herself to be careful around this man. Heaven help her if he decided to actually seduce her. The thought made her neck flush. Gwen flushed even more hotly when his warm hands touched her bare knees, manipulating her joints and turning her for his inspection easily. She shivered when his long fingers caressed the back of her thigh gently. "Easy," he murmured to her absently, as if she was an agitated horse. She resisted the urge to snort only barely. Éomer noticed her tense, but continued his inspection of her thighs wordlessly before removing her rolled dress from numb hands and returning her to modesty. He rose fluidly to tower over her again, his eyes darkened despite the strong sun overhead. He looked down at her critically, studying her wind-burnt face and wild hair. "I thought you and your companions traveled a long way to this land," he said. The statement was actually a question, but he didn't give Gwen time to answer. "Your wound is nearly healed but you are badly chafed by the saddle. You should have told me." His voice was regretful, and Gwen, surprised to hear the note in his voice, raised her head to look at him. "You didn't give me the chance, Lord Éomer," she retorted, with a touch of her normal verve.

Green eyes met hazel, and Gwen shivered again at the intensity she read in his gaze. She rubbed her arms to warm them and nodded anyeay, knowing it was as much of an apology as she would get from him. The strands of her wildly curling hair whipped in the wind, aggravating her. She answered his question, even as she knew he did not expect an answer. "We did travel a lot," she said, meaning she and Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "But on foot. I've done very little riding in my life until now." Gwen caught the wayward strands of her hair with a hand and brushed them behind an ear. Éomer followed the motion with his eyes before turning from her. He nodded his understanding, face blank. "We will make camp for a short time. Come," he commanded.

Gwen stood in the icy wind. "There is no need for that," she insisted stubbornly. "Just let me pee and we can go." Éomer watched her limp away, thinking he had never seen a more stubborn creature in his life. _She complains for rest and when she gets it she wants to go again._ He shook his head, crossing to Firefoot and scratching his ears while he waited for the girl to finish her business. Sighing, he murmured, "I don't want to like her, Fire." The flick of an ear was his only response. And he really didn't want to like the girl. She was a complication he didn't need in an already complicated world. But the more he saw of her, the more he admired her. Desired her, even. There was a fire inside of her – a courageous spirit – that appealed to him strongly. She was like a headstrong, unbroken filly, bucking all other ways but her own and unconsciously calling for a firm hand to gentle her. To a man like him, it was an irresistible challenge.

There was no denying she was beautiful; her little body curved gently in all the right places, and he wanted nothing more than to find out how she tasted. But she was young – and fragile. Truly, she was no bigger than a girl-child, for all her womanly assets, and he had to remind himself to be gentle with her. There was something about her that remained vulnerable, even as she healed and revealed the strength within her. He watched with hooded eyes as she stepped carefully over the windswept land, gingerly avoiding sharp rocks in her slippers. Anger rushed through him as he remembered Gríma's threats, regretting that she had been pulled into his mess so unawares, even if the blame for this could be placed on her shoulders to begin with. No, more than that, the blame rested with him. Had he not shown compassion in bringing her to Edoras, none of this would have happened. Still, what was done was done. _She has not even proper winter garb._

Humor rose in him as Éomer remembered the girl's fierce, angry response to the wicked man who had subjected them to banishment, and it reminded him that there was more to this girl than he could see from the outside. Admittedly he thought her a weak, simpering child when she began to complain halfway into their journey, but the sight of the pink, raw skin upon her inner thighs shamed him to his core. His uncle and cousin would have had him whipped for treating a woman so harshly. _She held back a great deal of pain._ He was pulled away from his thoughts by her tiny form brushing his, and he cursed internally when that marginal touch sent a frisson of awareness into his body, straight to his manhood, where it hardened him painfully. _I will need to visit Bridget – and soon._

"You are ready to continue?" he asked in a roughened voice when she returned. Gwen tensed a little at the gruff hoarseness of his voice. Wincing, she swallowed her instinctive denial and nodded. She really did _not_ want to go riding anymore today. Wordlessly Éomer helped her into the saddle before mounting behind her. Almost immediately her thighs began to throb again, and she knew this would be one miserable trip. Gwen was surprised when he turned her in the saddle to the side, bringing her into the curve of his body, so that her legs dangled from the side of the large animal. Éomer ignored the pang of white hot lust that filled him when she looked up at him with eyes as clear and as innocent as his sister's. By the Valar, she was _not_ his sister. For her part, Gwen was instantly aware of the power in his chest, and cradled as protectively as she was in his arms, of his warmth.

Grimly Éomer studied the landscape, looking for the best way to reach their destination. He spared her only the slightest of glances after they were settled. "Hold on to me," he rumbled. In this position she would not feel friction from the horse's movements, but she felt every one of his, and it was a new kind of torture for them both. He gripped her knees securely as she brought her hands up to grip his rigid abdomen, bringing his free arm around her torso to grasp the reins, expertly handling the horse even as it gained speed, streaking them across the slumbering land.

* * *

Gwen was more than relieved when they arrived at the sleepy village of Isenleath an hour or so later.

They were greeted by men she deduced were Éomer's own cavalry, and he confirmed it through his introductions of them to her. "Lady Gwendolyn, this is Hemmael." A blond man with a rather large nose bowed his head to her, blue eyes gleaming through a wealth of curling straw blond hair. "Grimbold," A handsome man with kind, wise eyes raised a hand silently in greeting. "And Hammalbrand." The older, round-faced man smiled at her kindly, gaping at her as he recognized her from their time together once more.

"You were the chit traveling with us before – the sick one!" he exclaimed excitedly, his older features twisting into an open grin. Gwen smiled softly at his rough manner of speaking, knowing he meant no insult to her. She nodded. "It is a pleasure to meet you all," she said quietly, preferring reservation over overt friendliness with these new people.

Hammalbrand's gaze was warm on hers, and her cheeks pinked in the cold air. "It is good to see you alive and well, my lady." To Éomer, he said, "Why don't we take her into the warm? 'Tis clear to see that she is half frozen, my liege." Gwen nodded, exceedingly grateful at the thought of some place comfortable. Éomer dashed her hope of a warm bed, though, saying with a great deal of polite decorum, "We cannot stay long, Lady." Unsurprisingly, he seemed sorry about it. Éomer's arms held her to him a moment before releasing her into Hammalbrand's care, and the older, craggy man walked with her into the small, well-lit tavern, speaking to her gently and saying nothing about her slow, ungainly pace. Éomer could tell she was very worn down by their day of travel, and truly regretted that they would have to travel farther still. Not for the first time, he cursed his uncle's poisoned mind.

The remaining men of his éored watched her enter the tavern, and the silence was broken a moment later by Hemmael, who whistled impolitely, wolfishly, before turning to Grimbold with a face-splitting grin. "She is a looker, alright," He admired lowly. "Thought so before and I think so now, especially now that she's got some color back into her. Looks a lot less like death, now, I'd say," he added humorously.

Grimbold silently agreed, but chastised the younger horseman softly. "You are a fiend, lusting after a helpless woman like that. But she is _something_ alright," he agreed. His eyes followed her form appreciatively across the frozen ground. She was a pretty little filly, and nervous of men, he could see. _Poor wee thing,_ surrounded by the rough Eorlingas. Such a creature seemed more suited to other folk.

Éomer didn't miss the way Grimbold's eyes lingered upon the small, innocent girl. When his old friend made made a masculine sound of appreciation in his throat, he felt violence rise in his blood. He stomped it down stoically, knowing he had no reason to be so protective of the girl. He had never begrudged his men a willing woman, and he would not start now, if the stranger chose to bed one of them. Still, the idea of her laid out for a man in his bed, eyes bright in the firelight, made him want to break something. Éomer had never felt such emotion before in his life, and wondered what it was about the girl that incited it within him.

Still, she _was_ under his protection for the time being, and it would not be wise to return her to her guardians soiled by his men. "She is under my protection, both of you," he warned the other men after long moments, "And she is certainly not one of the tavern whores. Keep your hands to yourself," Éomer ordered. He met the younger man, Hemmael's, gaze sternly, and the Éorlingas men dutifully turned their gazes away from the woman, duly chastened. The young rider knew it would be the only warning he would receive.

The other, Grimbold, simply watched Éomer with raised eyebrows. "Yes, my lord," he murmured after a moment. Éomer glanced one last time to the tavern before digging his heels into Firefoot and trotting away, leaving his men to watch him go. _Well isn't that something?_ Grimbold had never known his lord to speak to another over a woman in such a way, not even for his sister – though everyone knew to bed Éowyn meant death. He wondered what was going on between the two; the girl had certainly never been bedded by any man, that much was plain to him, but yet Éomer guarded her as if he had and meant to keep her. And it was well known that Éomer had no interest in keeping any woman at all. _Interesting._

Inside, Gwen found herself swept up into the lively group of men and women in the tavern. A bard playing a hand harp had started up a lively tune, and the bawdy music sent much of the tavern into a dance. Gwen didn't join in; she just wanted a place to sit and grab a bite to eat. She noticed almost instantly the hawk-eyed, jealous looks of the women who worked the bar, and assumed they believed her to be a working girl, too, who would take their source of gold. Gwen wasn't going to correct the thought; it wasn't worth the time. The men, however, were very pleasant. Hammalbrand sat her down at a table by the fire with a cluck of disapproval at her obvious tremors. "Didn't even grab you a tunic to ward off the chill, did he?" The elder man said mournfully. By 'he,' the old warrior must have meant Éomer. The older man inspected her clothing with distaste, clearly not approving of it's quality. Gwen started to correct his assumption, but he continued talking. "Not good riding clothes atall, 'specially in winter," he murmured.

Hammalbrand continued to mother her for a few minutes more. Gwen was strangely comforted by the older man's fussing, as it reminded her of softer, kinder men like Samwise. She missed the hobbits a great deal, and wondered sorrowfully if they were safe. Gwen let the old Eorlingas man run around collecting bread and ale and a large bowl of hot stew for her, and watched in amusement and slight embarrassment when the other men heckled him good-naturedly for his care. This world needed more men like him, and less men like Éomer, who were too hardened by conflict. Gwen immediately felt sorry for her unkind thoughts, but his whirlwind personality partnered with the strange, constant sense of attraction she had for him had put her on edge, and made her moody. She didn't _want_ to like him, for all his handsomeness and sometimes gentle ways.

The warrior Éomer had introduced to her, Grimbold, stood watch over her, observing silently with amused eyes at the way she drew attention. The girl didn't realize the draw she presented for men like Hammalbrand, who had daughters and granddaughters of his own, and for men like him, who knew very well how beastly other lesser men could be. They felt a need to protect the innocent, and this girl looked in need of protecting. _She's as new as snow, and as fair._ Her fine-boned structure reminded him of another woman, long-passed, and something moved within him as he looked at her. Gwen looked up at the big, muscled warrior at her side, surprised at how bulky and tall he was. He was even more well-built than Éomer, who seemed a hulk to her. _I'm not certain a horse could hold him!_ The thought made her crack a smile, and he noticed, thinking she was smiling at Hammalbrand.

He bent to her ear and said, "He's got a good, kind heart, our Hammalbrand does," he murmured. "Always looking to care for us." Gwen smiled up at the man, blushing when his eyes lingered on her. "He is very sweet," Gwen agreed. Éomer entered the tavern then, and for a moment all the others seemed to fall away as she noticed him. His tall, strong form seemed to fill up the room and he stood head and shoulders above all the others, even Grimbold. The other man noticed her change in demeanor and followed her gaze, biting his cheek at her fairly stricken look towards his lord. _I wonder..._ He crouched at her side, the motion smooth and practiced. Gwen blinked at him in surprise, and when he knew he had her attention, Grimbold favored her with a handsome, kind smile.

"Best watch yourself with our lord, young Gwendolyn," he warned in a whisper, seeking her reaction. "He is elusive and wild, like the great Mearas on the plains, and as randy as they come, unable to be tamed," he teased her. His eyes were serious and deeply brown on hers, and she knew he could see the way his words affected her and made her nervous. Gwen couldn't hold back a red blush at his words, uncomfortable and unused to the attention she was garnering from this man. Weren't men supposed to be _less_ forward in Middle Earth? With a covert glance at him, Gwen realized his game and couldn't resist teasing him herself in a moment of pure devilry. "Are you supposed to be talking to a woman about such things?" She smiled merrily at him when Grimbold's eyes grew big with surprise. He started to speak again when she shushed him. "I'm simply teasing you. No worries," she said, friendly. Her demeanor drew inward again, making the man wish she felt comfortable enough to laugh, and he mourned a little when her eyes broke away from his shyly. She was something else, indeed. Any other woman would be using every asset.

Gwen was distracted only by Hammalbrand returning with a platter of food for her. She wasn't sure how she felt with this new, big warrior so close to her. It seemed lately that she was surrounded by good-looking men. "Are you bothering the wee one, Grimbold?" The old rider grumbled at the larger man seriously. "Begone with yeh, already," he bid Grimbold sternly, wagging a finger up at the younger man. "I'll not have you chasing after her skirts." Hammalbrand's words had carried across the tavern, and Grimbold was well aware of his lord's disapproving gaze upon him. He stood, ignoring the healer's words, and bent over the comely girl, knowing what it looked like to everyone else.

"Unless, of course, he has a wanting to be tamed," he whispered teasingly. He looked at her pointedly, smiling at her ready, easy flush as it carried across her pale skin. His eyes patterned her face, taking in its simple, lovely appeal. _If I were a lesser man, I would have her for myself._ _He risked a glance at his liege._ _Ahh, but who's to say a little fun will hurt anything?_ "May I sit?" Grimbold motioned to the seat across from her, and Gwen watched him warily, with a spot of humor in her eyes, before she nodded. "Please do! And it's Gwen, not Gwendolyn," she corrected. "Only my parents call me Gwendolyn. Well, and Éomer." She made a face, indicating her thoughts on the name, and Grimbold laughed, enjoying her oddly foreign mannerisms. He noted the sadness in her features when she mentioned her parents, and wondered about what might have happened to them. More than likely they were dead, like his. "Gwen, then."

He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips in a charming move. Instead of digging into her meal, the girl crossed her arms over her breasts, eyes twinkling as she watched him pull out the chair and settle his frame into it. She seemed to have reached a conclusion that amused her. "You are quite the flirt, aren't you?" Gwen asked teasingly. Grimbold considered her thoughtfully a moment, finally laughing out loud, clearly having been caught. _Smart, too, our girl is, Éomer._ "Yes, I am, sweet," he said charmingly, "I am." He pushed his big form back into the chair, settling more firmly into the seat. "And you, my dear Gwen, are an _innocent._ " He watched as his words sank in, and her eyes widened humorously. He wanted that blush to return, and it did, readily. The sight of it made him want to cuddle her, and other things. _Poor baby, alone in this pack of wild men._

"A babe in the woods," he murmured to himself and her. Gwen flushed, completely taken aback by this man's forward, open flirtations. He made no secret of his thoughts towards her, and it was refreshing on some level to be openly desired without a creepy feeling, or a feeling of being hunted, vulnerable and laid open with hot lust, like she felt around Éomer. Still, she had never even been kissed, aside from that one moment with Glorfindel in Rivendell, so she didn't have the slightest clue what she was doing, even if she _wanted_ to be doing it. It was hard to deny that. Gwen took a sip of honeyed mead to cover her embarrassment, but choked when Grimbold flashed her a wicked, knowing smile. _Shit, its like this guy can read my mind._ Still, he didn't threaten her in the slightest.

"It's quite alright, lovely," he laughed charmingly. "Quite all right. There are none here who would take what isn't freely given." He considered her for a moment, eyes dark. For a moment, Gwen was moved by something she saw inside them, but it was gone before she could read it. She wasn't getting any better at that, by her reckoning. "I say you need a friend," Grimbold said with a smile, leaning onto the table with his big forearms. He was laying it on so thick, the man nearly laughed at himself, and wasn't surprised when Gwen laughed in his face. The refreshing thing about this girl was that she knew what his game was, so it truly became a playful thing. There was genuine humor between them, not a charming dance of lust. _This man is something else!_ Gwen was flattered by his attention, however open and forward it was, but she was not for a minute fooled by his behavior. His presence distracted her completely from Éomer and the terrible, uncomfortable day she had had with him. "I don't need a friend," she replied after a moment with a smile, "I have plenty."

The big man leaned forward even more, looking solemnly at her a moment before breaking into a mischievous smile. Gwen leaned forward in a mirror image of his movement, bringing her face within inches of his, and she could see his barely visible pupils dilate at her closeness. "Going to keep your hands to yourself?" she asked him. Grimbold slid his gaze towards the door, smiling when he noticed his lord and friend's thunderous, displeased gaze upon her. _Very interesting indeed, Éomer_.

Grimbold laughed at the clever woman before leaning back into his seat, his eyes never leaving hers. "I like you, beauty. You're a sharp girl," he laughed. He glanced at the door nonchalantly. "I can't promise you anything, though, my sweet," he said jokingly, knowing it would make her blush and piss off his friend. Sure enough, she flushed scarlet, and he smiled winningly. Taking her hand in his again, he looked into her eyes.

"All seriousness, now. Let's be friends."

* * *

 _Please review!_


	39. Exiled, Part 2

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Eight: Exiled, Part Two**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Gwen scraped the bottom of her bowl with the spoon in her hand, seeking the last little bit of the amazing stew she had just consumed before setting it down with an air of finality. Thoroughly satisfied, she sat back in her chair and caressed her stomach. Across from her, Grimbold watched her movements, looking amused. "Was it very good, then?" he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer already, and asked just to tease her. She nodded profusely, smiling lopsidedly at the playful warrior. She raised her eyes to thank a passing Hammalbrand, who picked up the empty tray wordlessly.

"I've got to thank the cook – that was by far the best meal I've ever eaten," Gwen exclaimed. "I think." She considered it for a moment, but Grimbold was distracted by a baby-faced soldier who had come into the tavern just moments before. A shadow fell across the table and Gwen looked up to see Éomer standing over her, the red in his armor gleaming dully in the firelight. The tail of his helmet streamed at his elbow as he grasped it in one hand. The look on his face had her deeply concerned. _He is worried._ Something was wrong. "What is it?" she asked, humor all but forgotten. He drew her up from the table by the hand wordlessly, pulling her into a secluded alcove across the room, moving in closely to whisper.

"We have to leave. Now," he said. "The King's men have pursued us." His eyes were solemn and serious, and he seemed to have lost the edge of the fierce demeanor he wore like second skin in those moments. Gwen was disappointed they would be leaving so quickly, but resolved herself to going. She knew this moment was coming all night; she had just been hoping to avoid the cold a bit longer. _At least I got a meal._

Tentatively she smiled up at the man who had thus far kept her safe."Well, alright, then. Let me get my things." Gwen lifted her skirts to move around him, but he stopped her gently, a curious look on his face. "I am sorry, Gwendolyn, for dragging you into this," he murmured. Again, she could see a gentler emotion than determination or anger in his eyes. He looked almost _tender._ Her name on his tongue was exotic and sexy, and she really wanted to hear it again. Mentally shaking herself, Gwen shook her head, denying his apology with a small smile.

"There is no need for apologies, Lord Éomer," she said formally. "Some men, like that snake in your uncle's hall, would do anything to get what they want." She smiled slightly, humor crinkling the corners of her eyes as they had the last hour she had spent with Grimbold. It pleased Éomer on a basic level that she would look at him in the same manner as a warrior in his éored; it was another similarity he had found between her and his sweet sister. Neither woman saw the natural divisions in the masses like the rest of his people.

"I'd rather be here with you than there with him," she joked, "If it makes you feel any better." Humor lighted Éomer's eyes a moment in response, before the warrior look that wore so often returned. He inclined his head, accepting her words. Briskness was returning to his movements again, until he saw the flash of anxious fear in his face. "I will keep you safe," he swore, and she could see he was deadly serious about that. Gwen had no choice but to trust him, but knowing they were going out into the wilderness in the middle of winter scared her. It would be like Caradhras all over again, minus the snow.

They left immediately, and the bitter nighttime cold was all the worse for having been in the warm tavern so long. Wordlessly Éomer draped a thick cape over her, one that was so large it fell to the ground around her. But it was warm, and it was obviously Éomer's. It carried his smell. They didn't take Firefoot this time, much to her surprise. "He needs to rest," the warrior explained as his big hands worked the cinch of the saddle tighter around the horse they would use. "We must cross the river Isen in order to be out of the King's reach," he added. A moment later he hoisted her into the saddle before coming up behind her. "How long will we be gone?" she asked, thinking of Aragorn and the others still somewhere in Rohan. Éomer's chest rumbled against her as he replied, "As long as we are banished." _Well fuck._

Isenleath was gone from sight within the hour.

* * *

They made camp almost three hours later, just past the icy river. Éomer kept them well hidden in the multitudinous trees that lined the fast-flowing body of water, careful to cover his tracks as they went. Gwen wasn't so sure that the rocky crag hidden inside the treeline was safe enough, but she deferred to the warrior's knowledge and expertise of this land. The large boulders had clearly served as a den of some sort for an animal at one time, as the little bones of long dead animals littered the ground inside the crag. She helped Éomer collect dry wood for a small, smokeless fire, and soon they were huddled against the occasional wind gust, gaining what heat they could from the flames. They were silent for the better part of the time it took to do this, mostly because she didn't have a clue what to say to the man.

He was, generally, everything she wasn't used to – arrogant to the extreme, argumentative, and all too willing to use his fists in a disagreement. They had little common ground that she could see. His personality, her inner voice whispered, was much like Boromir's, and she had been used to him just fine. The only difference with Boromir had been, of course, that she hadn't lusted after the man upon practically first sight like she had with Éomer. Gwen brooded over her strange emotions, warming her hands and face by the fire as he hunted for small game in the woods. Why did she react so strangely to Éomer, and not to a man like Grimbold? Both were equally handsome. Her thoughts were interrupted by Éomer dropping two hares at her feet. When she found herself staring up into his hips and lower torso instead of his face, Gwen dropped her head and blushed. The man hunkered down by the fire, beside her, watching her with interested eyes. He seemed to be assessing how she would respond to his silent demand that she clean the dead animals to be eaten. _Just great._

In this, at least, he was just like Aragorn. Gwen hated this job. With a sigh, she picked up the creatures gingerly, expecting blood and seeing almost none. "How did you catch these?" she inquired, looking at him curiously. It was growing truly dark now, with the sun having descended below the tree-line. Éomer grinned at her arrogantly. It was the first real smile she had seen on him, and she thought that, arrogance aside, a smile turned his face from merely handsome to breathtaking. He crouched over the fire, casting huge Éomer-sized shadows everywhere as he moved.

"With traps, of course," he explained proudly. "My cousin and I always made a point to come out and set them a couple times every year," he explained lowly. "It was a tradition between us." His leonine features relaxed and his eyes grew faraway, until she lifted the hares up to him, in a way that he interpreted as silently questioning. "What, can't you skin them?" He asked incredulously, before reaching for them with a snort. "Give them here."

Gwen snatched them back. "Of course I can! I was trying to see – oh never mind!" She huffed, aggravated with his bullish nature. Gwen had been trying to see where the animals had been killed, as usually Aragorn used a knife. "I _do_ need a knife if you want me to do it, however," she said pointedly. Looking skeptical, Éomer reached inside one big boot and pulled out a short, wicked blade. He handed it over, pointy end in his hand, watching her carefully as she began to work on the animals as Aragorn had shown her how to do. It seemed a lifetime ago that they were traveling through Hollin, which, now that she thought of it, reminded her strongly of the wide, craggy plains of Rohan. Deftly, she skinned the creatures and gutted them before passing the meat over to Éomer for cooking. He skewered them on wet bits of wood as she buried the remains. She wanted to keep the pelts, which she noticed the people of Rohan did a lot of, using them as all sorts of things, like blankets and banners.

"I'm going to take a bath," she announced, and didn't wait for his reply. Grabbing her pack, Gwen strode into the forest, determined to find the first pond or whatever body of water she could find and get _clean_. She wanted five minutes of time to herself, away from the distracting presence of His High and Mighty. Riding for days wasn't conducive to privacy or to stopping to bathe, and she felt grimy and overly caked with sweat as a result. Éomer caught up to her within a few seconds, though, and swung her around effortlessly, stopping her progress altogether. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, shouldering her to a stop even when she would have kept right on going. Éomer could see she was building up an argument against him, and instead of explaining himself fully, he allowed her to spew at him as women were wont to do. "I'll have you know I'm filthy." she jabbed at him amusingly, "And you can't stop me!" _By Béma this woman is stubborn,_ he thought. He cocked an eyebrow at her pointless, quite incorrect statement. Not only did _he_ think she looked quite delectable in the moonlight, if a little dusty from the road, he was _quite_ capable of stopping her. For a moment he contemplating doing just that.

It was clear with them standing there side by side who was bigger and stronger. Still, he found it amusing to needle her a little, just to rile her up and watch her eyes flash with temper. "Yes, I know. You smell terrible," he said seriously, careful not to show the slightest bit of humor within his features. He wanted to laugh out loud at the look of pure fury that crossed her features, and when she tried to stomp around him, he simply stepped into her way again, crossing his arms over his chest arrogantly. But how amusing it was to tease her! "If you want to go bathe, I insist that we stay together, Lady Gwendolyn," he intoned in a deliberately condescending tone. "There are many dangers about, and we are far too close to Orthanc for comfort," he added. The last bit was completely true, regardless how humorous he found antagonizing the girl. To his surprise, Gwen pushed at him with a low sound of anger and stomped around him. "I don't care what _you_ do, but I'm going to bathe," she tossed over a shoulder.

Éomer normally would not indulge such temperamental fits from anyone, but he could hardly blame Gwen for wanting a bath. Looking back at the fire, he thought of their supper crackling away over the flames. Though he hated to leave the cooking meat unattended, he really wasn't lying about the dangers that lurked in the woods. Though she was a feisty thing, Gwen would hardly be able kill anything by yelling at it, unarmed as she was. Smirking at the image that presented in his mind, Éomer followed her into the trees, towards the sound of rushing water she was clearly headed towards.

Muttering about high-handed jackass horse lords, Gwen dropped her bag on the mossy, damp earth at her feet when she reached the rushing water that had called to her within the forest, feeling as if she had died and gone to heaven. The small pool before her was crystal clear and perfect for bathing, even if it was frigid and dark as sin outside. The temptation of cleanliness was just too much for Gwen to bear. Scowling at the giant man that followed her as he entered the clearing, she bent to begin taking off her shoes, dead set on ignoring the warrior who seemed to think the sun rose and set with his word.

Gwen nearly fell over, however, when she realized that he, too, was undressing. "Uh, what in the seven levels of hell are you doing?" she gasped, angrily. He stopped in the middle of removing his red, dirty armor to give her a serious, glinting look, all traces of the mocking humor she had seen in his eyes moments before gone. "Clearly, I am undressing to bathe as well, Lady Gwen," he began archly, "Since you believe this to be such an opportune time for such an event. Surely, how can even I resist such temptation?" His features remained bland – too bland, she thought. It struck Gwen that he was _laughing_ at her. Still, she couldn't focus on that fact, but more on that he was _undressing_ _in front of her._ A rush of adrenaline in her stomach had her nearly shaking. _He is not going to get naked around me, surely?_

She had only intended on stripping down only when he wasn't looking, and even that made her ten kinds of nervous. Though she didn't know why he insisted on coming with her, _really_ , she was the one who insisted on this bath, so she was damn well going to take it, Éomer or no Éomer. And he was _not_ going to get naked with her. No way, Jose. _Gwen_ hadn't seen anything dangerous so far. She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. "You are not getting naked around me, buddy. It is bad enough I have to bathe with you here," she added. He smirked at her – _smirked!_ It made her want to throw something at him in frustration, but she had a feeling it would just bounce off him anyway. "I do not think you can stop me, Lady," he replied smoothly in that ridiculously deep voice of his, and it curled around her insides despite her annoyance.

To her horror he kept removing his armor. It must have showed, as all emotion seemed to on _her_ face. He laughed out loud then, and she growled at him in frustration. This mocking side to Éomer was nearly as bad as the intense Éomer. Turning around so she didn't have to see him, she said, "As long as I don't have to see you." On another thought, she added, "And I better not catch you looking at me, either!" Gwen loosened the ties of her dress, preparing to disrobe, and questioning herself the whole time. _What are you DOING,_ _Gwen?!_ If she had any sense, she would just give up and go back to camp, which Gwen was sure was what he wanted her to do anyway.

Éomer chuckled darkly, the rich sound making her even more nervous than she already was. _Oh crap – why did I have to insist on a bath?_ "You would have to turn and look at me to see if I was looking, wouldn't you, Lady?" He laughed again, clearly amused at her logic. Despite the truth of his words, the laugh he was having at her expense pissed her off to no end. By God, he made her want to throttle him. She heard his heavy chain mail thump to the ground in a jingle of metal rings, and then the sound of cloth moving. Swiftly, before she had a chance to think about it, she dropped the dress to her feet and dived into the water. The blast of icy cold that hit her veins shot through her like a frigid fireball. _Oh Christ, but it was so cold!_ Teeth chattering, she came up immediately, smoothing her hair back from her eyes, stiff as a cork bobbing in the water.

She felt rather than heard Éomer join her in the shallow water, and was grateful for the partial coverage of her hair and the waist-deep water over her body. Sneaking a peek around the curtain of her hair, she saw that he, however, didn't enjoy that luxury. The water came only to the tops of his muscular thighs, keeping even his ass bare to her eyes. And holy _Christ_ it was an amazing ass. The taut, twin globes were drawn tight as he stood, as rigid as she was in the cold water. _I wonder if he can crack nuts with those cheeks?_ The thought was naughty, and had her flaming red with embarrassment. With a muffled squeak Gwen turned away, reaching instinctively for her hair oil, only to realize she had left her bathing things by her clothing. With dawning horror, she realized if she wanted them, she would have to leave the water to get them.

"Well, shit." Gwen muttered to herself, sinking into the water accidentally and finding it just as cold as before. She closed her eyes and turned, trying hard not to actually look at Éomer's chiseled body. It was hard to resist temptation, especially when she accidentally opened her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance with concern at her as he scrubbed his amazingly muscular arms with sand from the pool. He seemed utterly unconcerned with the cold and with his nakedness.

"What is wrong, Lady Gwen?" Éomer asked from afar, his voice husky. Before she replied, Gwen saw something plop down into the water from a tree above and begin to move toward her. "Oh my fucking god," she screamed, scrambling immediately to get out of the water. "Its a _snake_!" Horror filled her entire body. She wanted to run, but the water made that impossible. She stood frozen with horrified fear. Snakes absolutely terrified her – they were by far the things of her nightmares. Gwen opened her mouth to scream again just as Éomer's thick forearm darted beside her to grab up the slimy creature and toss it, quick as lightning, away from her and out of the water, where it disappeared back into the foliage.

"Holy shit!" she panted, her body practically humming with residual anxiety and adrenaline. Éomer, however, looked amused. "Snakes scare you? I should have known," he teased. His eyes looked more green than yellow as he looked down at her, amused. "Now, what was it you required?" How he knew she required anything, Gwen wasn't sure, but she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. In a rush, she explained her dilemma, and when she was finished Éomer chuckled at her, though it had lost the clear note of teasing his laughter had carried just moments ago. It was a genuine laugh, one that made his scruffy dark beard move. Gwen rather liked the look on him. "Shall I fetch your things for you, too?" he teased, and she groaned, knowing he was implying she would owe him something for the deed.

"Please!" she cried, knowing she would never be able to bear walking naked out of the water with him watching her. With a knowing smirk, he turned toward the shoreline and began to move out of the water. Gwen tried _really hard_ not to look at his ass as he moved, but it together with his broad, tapered, drool-worthy back made it impossible to ignore. Christ, but he was beautiful to her. He reached her things and rummaged through her pack, finding the oil and scrub she had used since leaving Rivendell months ago. Gwen averted her eyes until he had returned to the pool, and though his eyes carried a note of humor in them at her behavior, there was also something else there she couldn't place – something darker and more serious.

He held out her things, just far enough away that she would have to rise from the water to take them from him, which she didn't want do. Her bashfulness was not lost on the warrior. "You are even more innocent than my sister, Gwendolyn," he remarked at last, moving closer to hand them to her. Gwen couldn't decide if he was complimenting her or not. The water heated perceptibly the closer he came to her. Her heartbeat quickened. "You are not deformed," he continued huskily, standing so closely that she could almost feel the heat from his skin on her own. Gwen was forced to tip her head back to meet his eyes, which she found to be as serious as his tone. "How is it, I wonder," he murmured intimately, "That you have never seen a man in the flesh?" His body brushed hers with white hot heat as he spoke, coming closer inches by inches. "Lain with a man?" he asked huskily. "Surely such innocence is but an act." His eyes darkened on hers as his lips twisted into a scowl of sorts, which she was learning was Éomer's general facial expression. "I have held you against me," he rasped, taking a step closer to her, "Surely I am not the first." His skin pressed against her, making Gwen gape at the feel of it. His nearness rattled her, and she lost her balance, flopping down into the obscuring water, leaving Éomer watching her from above. "Ah," he murmured again, almost to himself. "But I can see so easily that I am." His features had come together in a picture of masculine satisfaction as his eyes lingered on her face, reading her so easily. "You should not be ashamed of your nakedness, little one," he murmured finally after that long look. After a heartbeat more, the warrior turned away to continue bathing.

Gwen breathed out heavily, not realizing she had been holding her breath at all. Hastily, she began to oil her hair, eager to be clothed and dry and warm again. The thick curtain wasn't cooperating, however, and she struggled to lather it properly. If this was the only bath she was going to get in the foreseeable future, Gwen was going to take full advantage. Éomer's words reverberated in her mind as she worked on the heavy mass of hair. "It's not being naked that bothers me, Éomer," she said at last, a little starchily. _She was too damn affected by him._ Gwen could practically _feel_ his eyes on her back as she washed. He moved so quickly and quietly that she didn't notice he was close until she felt his warmth and bumped into his chest as she backed up.

Gasping, she instinctively stood up and away from him, and in the process leaving the obscuring water. Large hands settled on her shoulders, both a threat and a comfort to her, and Gwen tensed automatically. This was an intimacy that she wasn't ready for, whether it was common for men and women to do this or not. Making a mental note to ask Éowyn about bathing habits in Rohan, Gwen shifted, but his hands remained heavy on her shoulders. They were breaking all sorts of rules now, both of Earth and Middle Earth. He was the first man to touch her while naked, though he made no move to caress or fondle in any way remotely sexual. "It is I who bothers you, Gwendolyn?" he asked, voice deep and a little tender, even as she found a note of roughness there, too. Gently he took the bottle of oil from her hands, careful not to brush her skin with his. She couldn't deny there was a part of her that desperately wanted him to.

In an almost tender move, he pulled back the dripping curtain of her hair and began to add oil to it. He was so _hot_ , Gwen could practically feel the heat he generated in the inches separating them. She held her breath between low, shallow inhales, trying not to freak the heck out over a man like Éomer being so close to her again, even to get her clean. She never answered his question, but he didn't seem to mind. Instead, he grew infinitely tender and careful of her. "Your hair is very heavy – much more than my sister's," he said. Éowyn's hair, Gwen knew, was as thin as a baby's. His voice was light and as nonthreatening as a man like he could be, and she was surprised that he was so serious now. She expected him to tease her more, to make her even more nervous, but he did not take advantage as she expected. Slowly, Gwen began to relax under his careful ministrations.

"I want to get it cut, soon," she breathed. Heartbeats passed, and he swept away from her suddenly. "Rinse your hair," he said gently, neutrally. The loss of his close warmth made the water seem that much more frigid, but she did as he commanded while he continued with his own cleaning. Even after she was finished and drying, he scrubbed at his hands and face, until every trace of dirt and grime was gone. It was refreshing to see a man of Middle Earth so conscious of his hygiene. When he redressed, he did not wear his armor, but chose only to don a loose shirt and breeches. He looked, she thought, even more appealing without his armor on. There was a strange tension between them as they walked back to the small camp they had made that had not been there before. Gone was his playful teasing and sensuous innuendo. She felt bad for being so whiny and for calling him out for teasing her, since it seemed he now wouldn't even talk to her, really. It was worse than the teasing. Now it was like she wasn't worthy of even a glance.

Their meal was slightly charred, but it was better than sleeping on an empty stomach. At her first yawn, Éomer rose and removed a dull green bedroll from its place on the horse, settling it near the fire. "I apologize, but we'll have to share a bedroll." His eyes were dim, and she didn't know if she should be insulted or grateful for his lack of reaction. She nodded wordlessly, a little dejected by his aloofness. _I don't know how to act around this guy._ He had really done a one-eighty on her, and she had no idea why. "No problem," she replied, "You don't _actually_ bother me with clothes on," she said teasingly, hoping to draw out some of his previous good humor. Unfortunately he didn't bite, and only watched her with hooded eyes as she sighed and laid down on the pallet he had made for them. After a moment he joined her for warmth, but she could tell by his tense body he was not enjoying being near her at all. Even as she contemplated his strange, maddening behavior, she fell asleep, leaving Éomer to his thoughts.

Late into the night, he stayed awake, unable to sleep even lightly. He kept playing the girl's words back in his mind. _"It's not being naked that bothers me, Éomer."_ What had her her so nervous was _him_. In that moment, he been filled with desire for her and slammed with the realization that she was a true innocent – untouched by any other man. He had known the moment his hands touched her shoulders. She was not a woman who had ever known that kind of intimacy. Twin urges: desire to have her innocence for his own and the need to protect that innocence had risen in him, but he knew to slake his thirst on her in that moment would have been dishonorable, even knowing she desired him as well. She would have thought him only jesting with her, not serious in his advances. She deserved a serious advance, if one at all. He would have to think more on it. Thus he warred with himself, desire versus honor. Honor won, and he let her sleep peacefully, watching over her as vigilantly as he would his own sister. Laying beside Gwen as she slept was difficult, but he fell into sleep having come to one conclusion.

He wanted to have her – eventually.

* * *

 _Please review!_


	40. Back to Edoras

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Thirty-Nine: Back to Edoras**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _March 4th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

"What if it is a trick to get you back to Edoras, Éomer?"

Gwen watched Grimbold pace back and forth around the fire, feeling conflicted. The warrior of Éomer's éored had appeared between the trees just moments ago to share the news that their banishment had been recalled, inexplicably, by the King. Now, the burly rider seemed to be doing his best to talk his lord Éomer out of leaving for Edoras – though the orders to do so had come from King Théoden's personal carrier himself, with word that the spell placed over the hall of Meduseld had been somehow lifted. Grimbold did not believe it was safe for Éomer to return even with the King's personal word that it was.

Gwen watched Éomer pace the forest floor from her perch on the bed roll, knowing that his decision would be her own as well. _It is a sad thing when a loyal man has cause to question his leader's word._ Éomer seemed inclined to believe that his uncle was well, but both Gwen and Grimbold had their suspicions. She had seen the grip of dark magic that Gríma had on the King, and she wondered even now what force was powerful enough to release him from the grips of that black, powerful magic that seemed to have drained the very life from the King. "It was not his will that sent me from his halls, Grimbold, but the foul magic of Gríma," Éomer argued. "It poisoned his mind."

Her new friend looked to her for aid, but Gwen held out her hands in surrender, unwilling to take a side between them. At the end of the day, it was Éomer's choice alone. Grimbold just scowled at her, but his displeasure didn't bother her. She felt strongly that Éomer should be the one to make this decision. _He's going to walk a hole in the ground to China before he does, though._ He was pulling at the horsehair tale of his helm, too, and Gwen winced at the fine craftsmanship ruined under those broad, too strong hands. She stared down at the filth remaining on Éowyn's dress, and it stood out in stark relief from the white of the cloth she wore. She jumped up from the pallet, startling Éomer from his progress in front of her. Grimbold watched them curiously, but Gwen ignored him for now. Éomer had been like this since last night – jumpy and rather obviously avoiding getting close to her. _What is his problem?_ He confused her on so many levels.

Hastily she eased the helm from his hands, her smile up into his broad face both gently mocking and genuine. "You will ruin the tail, Éomer," she murmured. "I will hold it while you pace." He looked at her, deeply lost in thought, and nodded, thankfulness in his features. She rubbed the silver nose-guard with her thumb, admiring the fine work and craftsmanship of the piece. It was in the shape of a horse, and was thoroughly detailed out of silver and gold. _A kingly gift._ Gwen heard Gimli's voice in her head and smiled, missing her friends. Gwen wondered if they would be waiting for her in Meduseld by now. Éomer caught her smile and looked to her now instead of Grimbold. "I do not believe he would summon us back if he was still ill," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Gwen fingered the fine horse hair, torn. She wanted to get back to Edoras, to where she would be most likely to encounter Aragorn and the others, but she was also afraid of the power Gríma had shown he had over the King. _That hold would not be easy to break, for sure. T_ hey could be riding into a trap. Yet, she understood Éomer's need to follow the command handed down from his King. He was – at his core – a warrior who valued loyalty and courage. "Do not do this," Grimbold begged. "After Théodred..." he lingered on the thought a moment before his eyes hardened. "You are our last hope, Éomer."

She could tell the second Éomer's indecisiveness had passed – his sharp features hardened ever slightly, an almost exact mirror of Grimbold's actions, and determination filled his green-yellow eyes. He ignored the pleading of his soldier and friend, and looked instead to her. "We go to Edoras, Gwendolyn." Grimbold growled at the words, unhappy with his decision. Gwen nodded and passed him back his helm wordlessly. Gwen looked up at him solemnly before releasing her hold on the item. "Let me collect my things." She scurried around the two men, who were moving away from the camp towards the horses to talk privately, grateful to be relatively free of pain for the first day in nearly a week – probably longer. _That horse ride probably will rip me right open again,_ she thought ruefully.

Hastily, Gwen packed her bag, stuffing her journal and ink pot into the top, before she swung it to her back. She rerolled Éomer's bedroll, and put out their low fire before heading to where they stood. She was unsurprised to see Grimbold and Éomer arguing softly between the steeds. Though she knew it was wrong, Gwen listened shamefully. They were speaking in low tones, almost in whispers, but that did not diminish their angry sounds in the slightest. "It is not just your own life you could be throwing away, Éomer!" Grimbold cried softly, "Think of the girl over there! You are Gwen's self-declared protector, and yet you draw her back into the very court that killed your cousin!" Grimbold's words were forceful and angry sounding, and punctuated by the familiarity of two friends.

"I am capable of protecting Gwendolyn should something go wrong, Grimbold," Éomer rumbled confidently. "I truly would not bring her to Edoras if I thought the threat against us was strong," he added. Gwen knew that much was true; Éomer wouldn't lead her willfully into a dangerous situation. He was no more capable of doing that to her than he was of doing that to his sister. Gwen focused on the conversation again. "She is no more safe here than there, and you know I speak the truth," Éomer grumbled lowly after a moment, and she heard the sound of leather tightening. A low sound of anger punctuated the air. "Your reasons for leaving are selfish," Grimbold accused. "You want her with you only so you can seduce her, and it doesn't matter if she will be in danger otherwise. You care nothing for her safety!"

Silence followed, and even Gwen knew that was a bad thing where Éomer was concerned. "You overstep, Grimbold," he warned blackly. "I, too, have seen you with her. Don't pretend your reasons for wanting her here are more noble than that which you accuse of me – you are like a hound, slavering at her feet." Gwen listened keenly, shocked two grown men were devolving into arguments over her. "She is an innocent – and you would ruin her and leave her broken by the hearth, as you have done countless others before," Grimbold spat angrily. That amused her somewhat, partially because Grimbold thought she was not strong enough to handle heartbreak and also because he thought Éomer would be the one to do it to her.

She rolled her eyes. Yeah, Éomer was gorgeous, and yes, she lusted after him like nobody's business, but she had a duty to Aragorn and the others, and Gwen would not allow Éomer to distract her from that. _Men everywhere are arrogant pigs._ She was fast growing fed up with them – the veiled words and whispered teasing she had received from both of them seemed deceitful and ridiculous now. Éomer spoke again, this time tersely and carefully controlled.

"Grimbold, my business is not for you to comment on, and I shall not warn you again. Gwendolyn is not yours, and your claims in this area are entirely unfounded. Need I remind you of your own misdeeds in this area?" _Oh for Christ's sake._ She had heard enough and was tired of waiting for it to be over. Gwen took the remaining steps toward them, surprising the men at her appearance. "I am not sure why you two are going on about my sexual history, or fighting over me like dogs, but it doesn't have any merit whatsoever on getting to Edoras."

She met Éomer's still sharp, angry gaze. "So can we get going please?"The silence that reigned was so deep Gwen swore she would hear a pin drop two leagues away. Grimbold recovered first, and moved to take her pack from her. Gwen ignored his help and walked to the horse she would be riding, not waiting for the men to follow her. Grimbold's voice filtered through to her again. "If you insist on telling yourself that, my lord, then by all means – lie to yourself," he jabbed belligerently. "Your actions will speak for you eventually, and you and I both know you never pass up a skirt. And my past has nothing to do with now," he finished, flushing red.

Gwen growled low, growing irate at their insistence that she would just spread her legs for the first handsome man to crook his finger at her. _Pigs!_ Her anger masked her rising hurt well. One thing about it, this memory would keep her from sleeping with Éomer for sure. _Grimbold doesn't think highly of me at all. He makes me sound no better than a two-bit whore._ Wayward thoughts of lust for the horse lord be damned, she would not be easy prey for Éomer as Grimbold insisted she would become. She crossed to the saddled horses, surprised when she saw two instead of one. Grimbold obviously brought Firefoot with him, who stood regally in the clearing next to a pretty bay gelding, and both were saddled.

By the time Éomer and Grimbold joined her in the sun, she had her bag secured to the gelding and was preparing to mount. Grimbold approached her, trying to speak, but Gwen ignored his words and mounted smoothly, surprising both men and earning a protest from her leg. "Gwen.." Grimbold took hold of the gelding's reins so that she could not move, making her growl. "Grimbold, give me the reins." She didn't look at him for fear his gaze would make tears rise. He refused and stood stoutly by the horse. "Gwen, you weren't to hear that, sweet. I didn't mean it the way it sounded." _God, that's the oldest one in the book, Grimbold!_

She whipped her gaze to his, fiercely angry at his audacity. She ignored Éomer, who was obviously watching their discussion with interest."You must think me stupid. I know exactly what you meant," she spat angrily. "You were worried for me, and for my 'innocence'. I understand, truly I do. You were worried that I would allow irresistible Éomer here to ravish me senseless and thus leave me heartbroken." Gwen tossed her sloppily-braided hair as strands blew into her mouth, but her back was ram-rod straight in the saddle. "Well I have news for you – for both of you," She jerked her eyes to Éomer's quickly before returning to Grimbold. "I am not the weak-willed whore you think me to be, and it will be a cold day in hell before I give myself to one of you."

Grimbold's grip slackened on the reins, and Gwen jerked them from his hands. She had to admit, he looked so horrified at her words, she doubted that he actually meant to convey _that_ particular message. Still, he had wounded her with his assumptions about her and Éomer. The Eorlingas man drew himself up to his full height, staring her in the eyes fully, and she read the earnestness in them. "I was only trying to protect you, beauty." His voice lowered to a murmur. "Remember my warning?" She did, and her gaze softened somewhat as she recalled it, surprised to find that he had been quite serious.

Gwen never had carried a long-burning temper. Sighing, her anger towards him already abating, she looked over the windswept, barren winter lands ahead of the river, and beyond, to Rohan. "As I said, Grimbold, I understand. I do." She met his gaze gently. "But I do not need your protection, nor anyone else's." She bent and grasped the man's hand, squeezing gently before releasing. "Perhaps when you return to Edoras, we can get to know one another better," Gwen offered impetuously. Grimbold looked hopeful, and there wasn't a hint of ill-will in his gaze. "Become _friends,_ trul _y,"_ _he added._ "I meant what I said before, you know." Gwen smiled, let go of her anger, and nodded. "We will see." Finally giving Éomer her full attention, she motioned to him where he sat astride Firefoot. "After you, Lord Éomer," she said pertly. As they rode a steady pace, Gwen kept Grimbold's words in the back of her mind, aware of her potentially precarious position.

Because if Éomer wanted to seduce her, there was no doubt in her mind he could. He was really affecting her reasoning skills, especially in those moments when he was close. He could have her easily, and that scared her a little. For as much as Gwen might enjoy such an arrangement in the short term, she could easily loose her heart in the process. _No amount of amazing sex would be worth that._

* * *

Luckily for Gwen, their pace going back to Edoras was nowhere near as harsh as the one leaving it.

Éomer insisted they stop often and rest, and he seemed concerned about her healing leg, which she assured him was fine. They stopped to water their mounts and eat a cold lunch around midday the next morning. Éomer seemed disinclined to converse with her much, and found she was glad for it. While she munched on a hard stick of jerky, Gwen wrote carefully in her journal. She had been using it as Galadriel had intended: as a place for Gwen to write down her history, and she was telling the story to her friends: Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and the hobbits. She tried to stick to that purpose, so that if they ever found it, they would know all about her past.

 _"...My mother's grandparents were Irish immigrants. They sailed from Ireland to the United States in 1931, carrying only the clothes on their backs, ten dollars worth of British pounds sewn into their britches, and the love they had for one another in their hearts. Or so momma always said. I suppose that much about it is true, since I never saw Grand-papa without Grand-mama by his side. I remember only two things about them now, but they are vivid and strong memories. Their lilting, musical voices singing_ Be Thou My Savior, _slightly dissonant,_ _but very much together. And, that they always held hands, where ever they went. My mother always said it was because my grand-papa needed the reassurance that grand-mama would always be there, because he knew how lucky he was to have her and was afraid to loose her. They died two weeks apart the year I turned eight.."_

When Gwen finished the passage, she blew on the ink to dry it before closing the book. Gwen was startled to find that Éomer watched her from his seat a short ways away, gaze unreadable and shadowed. "You write so diligently," he said at last. It was true that she had taken to writing everyday, but Gwen didn't think he had noticed what she was doing. She waited silently, only watching him with the same quiet care he was watching her, knowing Éomer's true reason for speaking was coming. "What is so important to you that you must write of it constantly?" His face was open and curious in the sun, and she could see none of the usual guarded hostility in his face. To her he looked very handsome. He seemed genuinely interested her writing, and that surprised Gwen.

She placed the journal into her bag. "I write about my family and my history, so I do not forget it." He stared at her for a long moment, face closed, before he scoffed. "There are bards and scholars to do that for you well enough." For a moment Gwen was insulted, thinking he was saying she was wasting her time, but then she realized that for him, it was a waste of time. His family history was passed down by the bards who sang in the taverns all across Rohan. Éomer watched her face grow sad and closed, and he wondered what he had said to cause it. A woodpecker began its work in the trees over their heads, and for a long while there was no more talk. Then, the girl broke their silence.

"I am a long way from home, Éomer," she began softly. It pleased him that she said his name so casually. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue in that odd way of speaking she had. "I don't have any bards or scholars that know my history – only I do." Gwen looked at him shyly, to see if he understood. His face was blank, but open, and he seemed to waiting on her to continue. She waved a hand over her bag, where the journal lay. "I have to write it there, because I have found I'm forgetting a lot every day I am away from home." At last, he nodded, tearing off a hunk of meat from the bit in his hands with his teeth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Will you be going home, after the war?" he asked. _That is the million dollar question, isn't it?_ It made Gwen want to weep to know that it was all but impossible, save for some vague notion of Galadriel being able to work some mojo or something. Even so, she knew the door was all but shut to her now, and she shook her head lowly. "They are lost to me now, and I'm alone here," she answered sadly, "Save for Aragorn and the others." Her words were simple, but hearing them out loud sent a pang of homesickness through her. Her words made Éomer wonder about Gwen all the more. What other experiences had shaped the woman before him? He contemplated her a moment, and Gwen felt a trickle of nervousness trill inside her as she bore the weight of his stare. She could never seem to read the man as he read her – even now, after they had spent days together. After long moments spent in silence, Éomer stood, ready to continue on to Edoras after the short, pleasant rest they had enjoyed.

Gwen followed him, equally ready to see Éowyn and a real bed again. At the last second, before they reached the copse of trees where their mounts were tied, Éomer stopped, and turned. His face held curiosity. "And what happens when you run out of things to write?" he asked, standing only inches apart from her. "In your journal," he added, green-yellow eyes following his hand as he motioned. He held the gelding's reins as she mounted smoothly, passing them to her with a brush of his hand. Gwen shrugged, uncomfortable under his heady, piercing gaze. At least she was not craning her neck to look up at him this time. "I don't know, honestly," she replied. "Maybe about my journey in _these_ lands." Éomer mounted Firefoot effortlessly, looking every inch the conqueror mounted on the tall, broad warhorse. "The people I meet, maybe." Gwen imagined what she might write about him, and blushed.

They began to move, this time at the slowest pace he had set for them yet. He rode beside her, as an equal, for once. "A worthy endeavor indeed, Gwendolyn," he murmured, glancing over at her before passing his vision around the land, every vigilant to their enemies. "I am sure there are many stories you could tell in that book of yours," he said lowly as his cheeks split slightly in a smile, making her gape at his handsomeness. His approval made her glow with happiness. Would Éomer always affect her like this? God, but she would go crazy if it always so sizzling and tense. Éomer didn't seem to notice her stare. "Will you tell me one now?" he asked, distracted a bit by something on the horizon. She could feel his gaze trail over her in the saddle, and Gwen struggled not to squirm under it, utterly mortified by her seemingly unavoidable reaction to this man. To cover her awareness and reaction to him, she nodded. _Bad news, Gwen._

His horse moved gently beside her own as she talked of home, and they were off again towards the seat of the King.

* * *

 _Please review!_


	41. Reunions

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty: Reunions**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

As the seat of the King came into view in the distance, Gwen and Éomer had grown tense and anxious. Their mounts were feeling that tension strongly, and had grown nervous themselves. No amount of talk and storytelling could distract the pair from the danger they faced. What if the city was still under the control of dark magic? What if the King was not healed? Gwen knew as well as Éomer their arrival in Edoras under those conditions would be very bad for them – it could even mean death. Somewhere along the last leg of their journey, Gwen and Éomer had formed a truce of sorts, and she was grateful for the lack of hostility he was showing her. Together with the fear building in her chest, she might never have been able to stay seated in the saddle beneath her otherwise.

By the time the city of Edoras came into view in the distance, it was nearly dusk, and the sky had darkened into hues of orange, purple, and red. They pulled their mounts to a stop on the nearest hill, and Gwen shared a look filled with mixed feelings with Éomer as they watched the city's comings and goings together. She could tell they were both thinking the same thing: _What awaits us in Meduseld?_ Her stomach growled loudly, and Gwen hoped profusely that whatever fate awaited them, it would include food. "Dinner time," she chimed aimlessly, earning a tick of a smile from Éomer. Gwen didn't know for sure what they would find inside the city's walls, but she did know one thing, however: her ass didn't want to see another saddle for a good long while, no matter what happened.

Their pace until now had been steady and even, but Éomer kicked Firefoot into a trot and then a canter, not wanting to put off the inevitable any longer. Gwen could respect that, even if every step potentially took her to her death. _Or worse, it makes me a slave to Gríma._ The thought made her shudder, and she tossed it away like an active grenade before following Éomer's rapid charge. Gwen wasn't sure what she would do if that vile man laid his hands on her again. Commit murder, probably. _I wonder how Théodred and Éowyn are doing._

Gwen knew the man had been gravely ill when she left two days ago, but he could have made a turn around. She hoped it was so. The guards caught sight of them cantering down the hill as they approached, and they opened the outer gate in advance of their arrival. They slowed to a walk as the pair passed the outer gate, and startlingly, the guards calling a greeting to Éomer in Rohirric, who shouted something Gwen couldn't make out back. His horse had slowed to a stop in front of her in that moment. Anxiety twisted in her gut. It was now or never. Would they be welcomed or chained? Éomer twisted in the saddle to look for her, his face split into a heart-stopping grin as his eyes met hers, seeming to have forgotten his distance from her in that moment.

Even while her heart sped up at his handsomeness, Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that they were safe. _They aren't going to kill us._ Théoden truly had been released from the curse that ailed him, and would greet his nephew with happiness. Joy filled her heart for Éowyn and Éomer, knowing that Éowyn, too, loved the King like a father. The streets of Edoras were more crowded today than they had been on the day they had left, and many men and women lined the streets to see the return of the King's exiled nephew. Gwen followed right behind the lordly rider, but she was barely spared a glance – the people had eyes only for their beloved royal. Gwen recalled Éowyn's insistence that she was not of the royal line, but the people's reaction to her brother belied her claim. Éomer was given flowers and blown kisses by women and children. Had Gwen not known, she would have thought _he_ was the king himself.

 _These people truly adore him_. Ahead of her, he dismounted at the steps leading up to the great hall, a broad grin splitting his normally serious countenance; a soldier approached him, and Éomer greeted him happily, with a strong-armed hug. _This_ was a new side to the Éomer she knew: jovial. One of the guards took Firefoot's reins and led the horse towards the stable building down the way. Éomer, seeming to remember her, turned to where she waited to dismount, not wanting to force anyone out of the way to do so. The image of him in the sun stole her breath; his eyes were more alight with happiness than she had ever seen before, and it literally shook her. This was a man she could respect, a man loved and respected by his people, and who loved them in return.

She had no time to linger on thoughts. Éomer happy was a gorgeous sight indeed, but before she could guess his intentions, he reached up and pulled her from the saddle, grinning down at her broadly as she settled onto her feet. Éomer pulled off his helm, running a hand through his long, golden hair. Gwen shared in his happiness even as people poured in around them to greet the Marshal. _I mean, because really – how bad would it be to come HOME and have your uncle kill you?_

Gwen glanced into the crowd, noting instantly the hostile eyes of many a woman she saw there, all questioning her presence with him, judging, appraising, jealous of her. The King's nephew had yet to release her, and Gwen pulled away from him, wanting to avoid rumors about him. Éomer did not seem to register her attempt to move, and simply clasped her to him, smiling down at her genuinely from his greater height. "Did I not say we would be safe?" He smiled broadly again. Gwen laughed, knowing he had been just as afraid as she had been. Éomer released her only to grab her hand and start up the stairs, pulling her along with him. She went with him at first, before remembering her things. Gwen stopped them, and protested, "Wait! My pack!" But he just pulled her after him, unable to be dissuaded.

"Come! The King awaits!" He called in a booming tenor. They ascended the stairs together, much more quickly than she would have liked. Gwen stumbled on the last flight, forcing Éomer to steady her and shoot her an apologetic glance. The door-ward, Háma, greeted Éomer with a bow and a smile, before clapping a beefy hand to his shoulder. Éomer did the same to the elder soldier, and they spoke in Rohirric together. Gwen listened attentively, knowing she would never pick up the language if she didn't pay attention. The captain of the royal guard opened the doors to the hall for them with a smile after a few moments, and Éomer turned to her with a smile. "Apparently your friends have arrived, Gwendolyn. They are inside with the King."

Gwen glanced at him, shocked and elated, before dashing past him and through the doors. Nothing was as important in that moment as seeing Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. _Oh, and the hobbits! Surely they have Merry and Pippin with them!_ Her heart thudded rapidly as she turned a corner. The familiar throne room loomed large around her, and Gwen could see Gimli and Legolas standing clearly with Aragorn a short ways from the raised dais. Helplessly, tears streamed from her eyes at the sight of them, careworn and dirty and _there_ at last. Not certain that her suddenly-jelly-filled knees would hold her should she move further, Gwen just stood at the end of the hallway, deliriously happy to see them.

"Aragorn!" she called, joyfully, the sound of her voice ringing through the room, up into the vaulted rafters. The Dúnedan man, woodland elf, and stout dwarf turned curiously at the sound of his name falling from her lips, and Gwen's ridiculously huge grin split her face as they caught sight of her. It was a measure of how much they had missed h er that instantly they turned from the King – who had been talking to a white-robed adviser nearby – and rushed towards her, all shouts and laughs and garbled words. She took two steps forward before Aragorn reached her first, sweeping her up off her feet in a bone-crushing hug. The warmth and care she felt in his embrace brought the tears, and then Legolas was there beyond his shoulder, his smile as radiant as a new-day sun. _They're back...and alive!_ All the worry she had had for her friends faded, and all was right in the world for her at that moment.

"Never have I been happier to see your shining face, _elen_." Aragorn sighed before spinning with her in his arms, making her squeal with laughter, even as tears of happiness poured from her eyes. For a long moment, he simply held her aloft as if her weight was nothing. All around the hall, guards and advisers stopped to watch the reunion, and she was only vaguely aware of Éomer standing at the entrance. At Aragorn's side, Gimli banged the handle of his axe on the floor, making a loud ringing noise that distracted both Gwen and Aragorn. The dwarf poked the human man in the side, growling, "Well, will you let her down? The elf and I would like a turn, _if you please_!" He drew out the last part in his garbled accent.

Gwen pulled back from Aragorn, grinning down at the dwarf. Aragorn set her to her feet and she immediately bent to embrace her fierce dwarven friend. Gimli's beefy arms encircled her warmly. "I thought I would have to murder the elf, _elen_ ," he told her immediately with a hint of a smile, "For all of his unceasing moans of missing you," he growled lowly before leaning close. "Hell on the ears, they are," he whispered. She giggled and glanced up at the elf in question, who smiled and cut his eyes in a roll in response to the outlandish claim. Gimli pulled her in for another strong hug, whispering, "I missed ye greatly, too, lass." A surge of love for the small, hearty dwarf rushed into her breast, and she squeezed his chain-mail-clad chest.

"I missed you too, Gimli, so much." Gwen stood, turning to her favorite elf with twinkling eyes. His own gaze shined happiness down to her as they shared an embrace. "Do not believe the dwarf, Gwendolyn Carrick. He is full of falsities and exaggerations," he intoned in that even, lilting voice of his. Legolas' eyes twinkled merrily as they flickered past her to the dwarf, who growled playfully. _God, I've missed them!_ "I think he missed you even more than Aragorn and I combined," he added cheerfully. She took in her three friends encircling her closely, deliriously happy to see them. Tears welled up again, but she shoved them down. "I'm so happy to see you, all of you," Gwen exclaimed at last. She gazed at Gimli, then Aragorn. "You cannot know how much." The ranger clasped her hand, inspecting her filthy dress.

"You have had quite an adventure while we were gone, but the sounds and looks of it," he said. Gwen nodded, thinking of the terrible days on the bitter, windswept plains. Like a lightning strike, she remembered Merry and Pippin. Gasping, Gwen asked, "Merry and Pippin! Did you find them? Where are they?!" She looked around the hall, but they weren't anywhere to be seen, and Gwen's heart sank. For a long moment Gwen feared the worst. Aragorn raised a hand to pause her words, seeing clearly the direction her thoughts had turned.

"Peace, _elen,_ _"_ _he soothed gently._ _"_ We did find the halflings," he explained. "They are alive and well, and in the care of an ally." He smiled somewhat secretively at her, and Gwen was instantly confused and suspicious. _What does that mean, exactly? Why didn't they come here?_ "What?! Why would you do that?" She cried, beginning to look around for her pack already, determined to go and get them. "We've got to go get them, _now._ " Legolas placed a hand on her shoulder gently, stilling her frantic motions. "They are very safe, _elen._ Trust us." Gwen calmed down long enough to see he was being earnest.

She was almost immediately distracted by Aragorn. "There is someone I would like you to meet, Gwen," he said, motioning up to the dais, where the King and his adviser stood. Strangely, they had not reacted to the wild happiness she and her companions had shared. Gwen saw Éomer pass them as he strode up to the King and embraced him. "Someone, I think, that will be very familiar to you," Aragorn continued, drawing her attention. He shared a happy look with Legolas, and Gimli chuckled himself. _What is going on here?_ She furrowed her brow in confusion as he turned and led her towards the familiar raised dais of the King's hall. _He must mean King Théoden._

As they approached, Gwen got her first full look at the 'newly restored' King. She was shocked to find that he was completely changed from the man she remembered. Gone were the deeply furrowed cheeks, matted, limp tresses, and diminished appearance, and in place of that visage was a vibrantly alive, amazingly whole, handsome man. _Now this man is a King!_ She could see the familial resemblance between he and Éomer as they stood side by side, sharing a similarly tender reunion as the one Gwen had just enjoyed. Gwen could see now that Éowyn was crouched at the King's knees, looking for all the world as if she had been given the whole of it and wanted nothing more. It made her happy to see the Éorlingas woman who had become a friend to her so thrilled. The King, too, looked as if his world was restored, and he embraced Éomer again with a sheen of moisture in his gaze. Gwen was moved to find that tears streaked the King's face. _They obviously love each other very much._

She watched as the King tenderly cupped Éowyn's cheek before turning back to Aragorn and the others happily. "You are right, Aragorn," Gwen beamed. "The King _is_ familiar to me. I am glad to see him freed from Gríma's clutches at last." Gwen gave her attention to Aragorn again, and he only smiled. "I did not mean the King, _elen._ " He motioned to the tall, white-robed adviser still standing at the King's side. Gwen was confused as to why this stranger would seem familiar to her, she didn't want to disappoint Aragorn. Her surprised eyes met the adviser's politely, and Gwen prepared to make introductions when she realized she did, in fact, know his face.

Her mind rebelled against what her eyes told her. "Gandalf," she whispered, shock and awe filling her whole body. It shook as that familiar face broke out into a familiar smile. _That's impossible! He died!_ Still, Gwen couldn't deny that she did know him. But how? The white-robbed wizard opened his arms to her, grinning broadly. _It really is Gandalf_! Gwen gasped, tears coming again to her eyes. "Gandalf!" The cry echoed through the high arches of the hall, and Gwen threw herself into the wizard's arms, embracing him quickly before pulling back, unable to believe it was him. Tears dripped from her eyes, and Gwen was so overwhelmed she had to lean into the old wizard for support. _I can't believe he's alive! How is that possible?_

But their time apart had changed him, too. Gone was the gray beard and hair, and it was replaced with a mane of the purest white. Gwen's eyes roved the old man's form, hardly able to believe he was there and _real._ "But you fell," she stuttered. " _How are you here now?_ " Her voice cracked and broke with new tears, and Gandalf moved to embrace her again in comfort. "That is a tale for another day, my dear Gwendolyn," he murmured into her hair. He turned his attention to the King, who was watching their reunion together with his niece and nephew at his side, his face as happy as Gwen's. "It is good to see you, child, as unspoiled as ever," Gandalf said.

Éowyn rose from her place by the King's side and rushed to embrace her – _like a friend._ Gwen hugged her back, a little startled. Alarm filled her when the fair woman began to tremble and shake in her arms, and whatever hesitation she felt at first melted as she comforted the human woman. She couldn't _not_ sooth the gentle Éorlingas woman who had been so kind and caring towards her. "My friend," she called to the woman in a whisper, "what is the matter?" Gwen was _very_ aware of Éomer's sharp eyes on her, but she ignored him in favor of his sister. Éowyn pulled back, her pale face flushed from her upset, cheeks wet with tears. "I am so sorry about Gríma, Gwen!" She wiped her cheek. "I didn't know! Éomer told us what he tried to do – and I put you into his sights!" Éowyn cried. "I am so sorry!"

She gripped Gwen's hands, pleading for forgiveness. Gwen was baffled. _Nothing about that man's actions was her fault._ There was nothing to forgive, and she told the golden-haired woman that, who smiled, relief evident on her face. Gwen beamed back at her. Ruefully she remembered Éowyn's dress and looked down at the stains upon it. " _I'm_ really sorry about your dress," she began. The woman waved it away like a wayward buzzing fly. "It is only a dress – I am only glad you are well," she assured Gwen with a smile. "I worried that my brother would not protect you as he should." Her gray-blue eyes twinkled over her head at her sibling. "Oh!, come, meet my uncle!" Éowyn pulled her to the King's side, where he stood beside Éomer, watching them. A warm smile graced his handsome features as he greeted her with a kiss to her hand. He pulled back after a moment with a smile. "You are as fair as my niece has said," the King complimented, making Gwen blush. He graced Éowyn with a smile before returning his gaze to Gwen.

His eyes grew heavy with regret. "I fear I must apologize, for I am told I inadvertently banished you along with my nephew. I am very sorry." He sighed heavily, and Gwen bowed her head respectfully, exceedingly grateful this man was normal again. "Under different circumstances I might feel that an apology was necessary," she began, "But in this case, I think you didn't have much of a choice at all, my lord. Please, do not humble yourself so." _It would be a huge pill for me to swallow, knowing that I'd been corrupted so – and I'm not even royalty!_ Gwen winced as she thought of the strength of will it would take to face that situation he had created in Rohan. The King looked at her solemnly a moment, nodding, before turning from the women to speak to another adviser that had approached. Remembering Théodred, she turned to Éowyn to ask about him, but the King beat her to it, booming the question out into the hall.

"Where is my son, Éowyn? I wish to see his face." Éowyn's refilling eyes and crumpling features told her all she needed to know, though Gwen had known the truth in her heart already. _Théodred is dead._

* * *

 _More to come! Please review._


	42. A Fire Ignited

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _I'm deeply sorry to have missed the Tuesday deadline this week. I've been working nonstop on my classroom for the past two weeks, and I've had NO time to write. Things will settle in the next couple of weeks (I hope. I've been exhausted). Also, I find myself wanting to revise more and more, so don't expect multiple chapter updates every week._

 _Thank you all so much for your continued support._

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-One: A Fire Ignited**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

 _March 6th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

It was a dark day for Edoras, and for the halls of Meduseld, though the sun rose as brightly as it always did on a clear day such as this one. Today was the day that the King's son, Théodred, would be laid to rest at last. Gwen lay within her feather bed staring up at the dark wood panels of the ceiling, completely comfortable and rested for the first time in days; she felt vaguely guilty about it, knowing that somewhere in the halls, a family grieved for a lost son and cousin. Today they prepared to bury that man. She could only empathize with the grief they were feeling, as she had never lost family herself. Gwen had, however, lost dear friends. Since Gandalf's 'death' and Boromir's passing, Gwen had struggled with the nature of death and dying, and how easily it occurred in this world. On Earth it just seemed like something that usually the old and infirm dealt with so often.

Gwen fingered the green coverlet fringed in white that covered her in the bed, her hands tracing the stitching gently. Someone, probably a servant or lady's maid, had put a lot of effort and time into the beautiful work. Every detail of this world seemed, at times, to be more meticulously done and cared for than on Earth, yet in many ways it was lacking. Gwen knew so many things that would make this world easier to live in, but she had no idea how to share it with them. _I wish I could take the pain from them._ No one but Gwen could understand just how far Earth's people had come from this point in technology and life-extending medicine. _God, what I wouldn't give for a good nine millimeter handgun sometimes, or a couple thousand hand grenades and, definitely, some penicillin._

But the people of this world were nowhere near ready for such technologies, and it really wouldn't go over too well. Gwen knew it in her heart that any knowledge she shared would not be a good thing, not even in cases like with Théodred. Who knew what else they would expect of her? But the thought itself was nice. Then reality stepped back in, and Gwen realized again that, now, she lived in a world where good men, like Théodred, died from perfectly preventable infections. And knowing that it could have been prevented was no comfort to her at all. If anything, it made her all the more sad.

With a sigh, Gwen threw back the covers and rose to stand on the furs surrounding the bed, wanting nothing more than to skip the day ahead.

* * *

Éowyn woke to birds singing merrily outside her window, and the sound made her ridiculously angry. _The whole world has shattered, and yet the birds still sing as they always do._ Did they not realize her cousin was dead? The man who, despite her brother's protestations of danger, had taught her to ride when she first begged? Taught her to wield her first sword? Had been her protector and advocate in all things. Her beloved cousin. _Gone._ When Éomer had wanted nothing more than to protect her from the evils of the world, Théodred had armed her and prepared her to face dangers she would surely one day face.

She would never forget the fight Éomer and Théodred had fought over her training. _You and I will not be there to protect her forever, Éomer!_ _He had said._ _She is capable, and you would see her helpless! I will not._ The words, spoken so long ago, echoed in her head, and tears of aching grief fell to the pillow beneath her. She turned, sobbing. _I cannot face this day, Théodred._ "Why?" She cried into her sheets, feeling as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. "Why did you have to die?" The silence of the chamber and the singing of birds outside were her only responses.

Éowyn cried softly, clutching a pillow to her chest, until at last her tears dried. Sniffing, she tossed aside the damp cushion and sat up in her bed. Heaving a huge breath, she steadied herself and stiffened her lip when it trembled. _I can't expect Éomer to be strong for me today. I have to be strong for him, and for Uncle._ Her brother had been closer to their cousin than even she, and Éowyn knew today would be counted among his most difficult. _He will be feeling guilty for having not been here when he passed._

Try as she might, Éowyn would never forget the moment of Théodred's passing.

 _She closed the door to his chamber, wincing when she noted the long rattle in her cousin's chest. Éowyn crossed to the bed to inspect his wound, aghast at the angry red stripes climbing up his body. Théodred surely had blood poisoning – she'd known since the day after Éomer had arrived at the hall bearing his weight. He'd been delirious and weak then, barely moving, but now he was thrashing, moaning, his chest making all manner of sounds. How she wished Éomer were there, or even Gwen, so that she didn't have to face this alone. But she was alone, and so she sat, trembling by his bedside, speaking to him unceasingly in their language. "Théodred, brother of my heart, my cousin," she whispered to him, "Do not fight the end." His hand clenched in hers, and hot tears fell from her eyes. His passing was very near. "Cousin, the call of our forebears is strong now." Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest. To watch this brought unfathomable pain. "Go to them and be at peace," she told him, despite her need call him back from the edge. Heartbeats passed._ A _guttural moan rent the air, until, at last, the tension sprang from him. He lay still, and took his last breath in peace._

Éowyn bowed her head, the memories wiping from her mind in the face of the present, and she found that tears were coursing her face. _Oh Théodred.._

* * *

Éomer had been awake for many hours already.

His grief kept him from sleeping, and he had grown surly as a bear as the sun had emerged between the peaks of the White Mountains. He watched its slow progress into the sky from the stables; Éomer had sought a measure of comfort from the great beasts, and found that the only solace they could give him was peace and quiet – something no one – not Bridget's wet heat, not his men in the sparring ring, not his sister – could give him. Éomer found no peace even in his own thoughts. He was so _angry._ Upon discovery of his kin's passing, Éomer had gone immediately to Bridget, thinking she could comfort him. As always, she had pulled him into her home, into her bed, and for a time he had poured out his pain between her tanned, fleshy thighs. She had taken his powerful onslaught as he knew she could, but it made him feel nothing but grief even as he came, shuddering, onto her stomach.

She made no move to hold him as he cried into her neck, even when he asked her to. He had been a fool to think the hardened widow would be a comfort to him. She was too burdened by her own losses, her own life situation, to feel his pain as he did. Bridget sent him from her bed feeling ashamed for his weakness and disgusted by both her callousness and himself. He pursed his lips as he remembered, the hard knot of pain thick and heavy in his chest.

 _Théodred, my brother_ _kin..it is not right that you are gone from this land._ _Éomer ran a hand through the locks of hair at his temples, grieved that he had missed those final days._ In that moment, he hated the girl, Gwendolyn, for keeping him away from his cousin at the end. But he then reminded himself that at the end, it was _his_ fault he had been gone, not the girl's. She had merely been another player in the game that had been set in motion within Edoras for months now. Firefoot bumped his head into Éomer's chest, drawing him from his thoughts, as well as earning a wave of affection from him.

"You are a good friend, Firefoot," Éomer murmured into the warm horseflesh at his side. _Théodred would have done the same thing you did for the girl,_ he told himself. Éomer knew it was true. His cousin had been a gentle soul, like Éowyn, for all of his great ferocity in combat. He would have taken one look at the girl and lost himself to the lust that rode the more stern and controlled Éomer daily. The thought made him laugh. Théodred had been quite the lovestruck fool a time or two, and had never hesitated in enjoying himself with no thought to the consequences, and Éomer had always been more cautious. Éomer fondled Firefoot's ears, lost in thought. The dapple-gray steed stared up at him intelligently, snickering and huffing into his hand, seeking a treat. Laughing softly even with a heavy heart, Éomer produced a small section of carrot and presented it to his companion, his thoughts ever turning back to his cousin.

Today they would lay Théodred to rest under the great mounds of the kings, his tomb forever to be covered with white simbelmynë. The thought made Éomer want to roar with anger, to send his refusal of its truth straight to the very heavens if he could manage it. He wanted someone to die – to pay for what was done to his kin. But there was time enough for that, later, he thought blackly. There would be retribution. With a heavy sigh, Éomer patted his stallion's neck one last time before leaving the stables to seek his own brand of comfort and a bath.

* * *

Théoden, son of Thengel, seventeenth King of Rohan, had been ill prepared for few things in his life. His father had endeavored to educate him well for life as a king, and as far as Théoden could see, he had done an excellent job at the task. Since he was a young boy, he had enjoyed tutors in many subjects, from the Elvish tongue to geography and history, and he had been a horse-master and swordsman for nearly as long. As future monarch of Rohan, he had been given lessons on foreign relations and dancing. For all the scoffs toward the coarseness of the Eorlingas by the Gondorians, they were actually quite cultured and skilled in the ways of deplomacy. There was scarcely a situation to be had that he had ever thought to find himself lost and unable to function. For dozens of years, even through the loss of his wife, that thinking had held true. Today, Théoden-King was forced to admit himself cast adrift, lost in a sea of decorum and tradition and vast, overwhelming grief.

In all his life, he never thought he would live to see his only son dead and buried. Théoden stood in front of the great, full-sized mirror his wife Elfhild had brought from Gondor on the day of their wedding. His face seemed to grow old before his very eyes, and he brought a hand to the lines in his cheeks. _Surely no man can live through this pain._ _Surely I must pass away from this world as well._ It was not right that Théoden should live while his son should die.

In a rage, Théoden had sent everyone away from his chambers, needing above all else to be alone, to gain a hold on the monstrous grief that had taken root of his very life. His blue eyes stared dully back at him as he looked at his form in the mirror. _You are Théoden Ednew, Seventeenth King of Rohan,_ he reminded himself. His people would seek to follow his example in their own grief, and it would not do to collapse under its weight as they watched.

Yet the memories of a father washed over him like a great tidal wave, and he could not stop his grief from rising anew along with his tears. They echoed in his memory, unstoppable. _"You have a son, my lord! A son!"_ _and_ _then_ _, "His name shall be Théodred, as his mother wanted, rest her soul."_ Memories arose, pictures only, a great sea of them swimming behind his eyes. _His son, so tiny in his hands. Tottering around on clumsy, still-weak legs. Running from his nursemaid, screaming for him. "Daddy!" Riding his first horse. Sparring with Háma. Face shining with laughter. Playing with little Éomer and Éowyn so gently and lovingly._

The emotional barrage was endless, and Théoden shuddered against the tide. The grief he had long carried for his beloved wife was eclipsed by this new, fresh pain, and the King collapsed to the floor under its deadening weight. A harsh cry, his own, broke the silence of his grand chamber, and he could no longer resist the pressure in his heart and in his mind. Hot tears boiled up, and he closed his eyes to hold them in, but they tracked down his cheeks unstoppably.

 _My son is dead._ _The world had ended._

* * *

Gwen hummed softly as she dried her body, happy, as always, to be clean. Some things, it seemed, would always remain true from her previous life, and this one was one of them. She dressed quickly in her breeches and tunic, knowing Éowyn would be waiting in the chamber for her to arrive. She had asked Gwen to stand with her at the funeral, and she was to be one of the twelve women to sing songs of praise for Théodred as he was laid to rest under the burial mound. It was a high honor, Gwen was sure, but after explaining to Éowyn that her home had no such custom, the King's niece had promised that she would understand everything before the ceremony. Gwen was more than a little daunted by the idea of singing, but it was a small thing to do for her friend.

"Just come to my chambers after you use the bath, Gwen. I will tell you about it," Éowyn had said. And so Gwen would. Dressed, hair dripping water with every step, Gwen picked up her pack and walked from the bath, sure to leave the door open so that the next person would know it was free. She walked down the ornately decorated corridors quietly, marveling at the detail laid into every column of wood. The people of Rohan, it seemed, favored the dark, dense woods for their structures, with lighter, thinner cuts for details. Gwen trailed a hand over a panel inlaid in a column, stopping to admire the story it told. Long, winding caravans of people traveled across the open planes under banners Gwen didn't recognize, hair swept by the breeze. _What had happened to these people?_ She didn't know. After a moment, she continued toward her destination, contemplating the scene.

The halls were mostly empty of people, since many of the occupants and servants were preparing for the funeral and feast for later in the day. She turned the corner, heading for Éowyn's chambers, and smacked unexpectedly into a large, hard body. The force of their collision nearly sent her to her ass, but Éomer steadied her with a large hand swiftly. "Oh!" Gwen gasped, shocked at the contact.

One look at him and she could see he was not doing well. Gwen could tell that his emotions were close to the surface, for he had none of the characteristic stoicism he had always shown her within his features, nor did his face have its usual tightness of aggression or anger. Instead, he looked obviously troubled, and pain swam clearly in his gaze. _Well of course he is troubled, Gwen. He's lost his cousin!_ _Compassion rose to replace the racing of her heart._ "My apologies, Lady Gwendolyn," he murmured down at her, bowing regally at the waist in deference. His voice was deep and rough, as if he had been crying recently. Her heart expanded in sympathy for him.

Moved by this change in him, Gwen forgot for a moment her natural trepidation of him, touching his warm hand gently as she sought to convey comfort to him. In the space of a few heartbeats, Gwen was able to say she was genuinely _not_ feeling the need to do something naughty with the handsome Marshal. She was moved by his presence now in an entirely different way. The vulnerability she saw in him made her want to hug him. When their gazes met, there was none of the usual heat arching between them, that desire replaced by the specter of death and sadness.

"There is no need for apologies, Lord Éomer," she replied, sweeping her eyes down and away from his. It was difficult to see the swirl of emotion in those usually fierce depths. "I am sure your mind was in other places entirely, and really, the fault was mostly mine anyway." Gwen spoke sweetly, without a trace of the normal bite she had adopted around him.

She went to remove her hand from his arm, but his own shifted and engulfed hers before she could, and when Gwen lifted her eyes to his again, she could see his eyes had shifted curiously as well. "You seek to comfort others so readily, little Gwendolyn," he remarked with hooded eyes. Something had _definitely_ changed in them, and though she could not read them as readily, her heartbeat quickened in response. "I find this most appealing about you," Éomer murmured, a note of heat infused in his voice. Gwen was taken aback by the lightning-fast changes in his demeanor, and found herself caught by the sudden rise of response in her. Awareness tingled along her skin as his hand engulfed hers. He towered over her, rising head and shoulders above her, but oddly she didn't find his easy power and strength threatening in that moment. His hand retained hers securely, and Gwen flushed slightly under his warming, serious gaze.

"It's in my nature to do so, Éomer," she replied softly, choosing to bypass the heat in his eyes to focus on his words. "From the time I was a small girl, I've always been the type to comfort." No matter how she tried, Gwen was growing more aware of his closeness with every second that passed, and he seemed in no hurry to move or release her. His scent, that appealing mix of cedar and musk, surrounded her, and Gwen's body flushed pleasantly in response. She had to remind herself that this was Éomer, and that she had no desire to start something romantic with him. Even if it was a lie – her body and heart definitely wanted romance even if her mind did not. She felt the undercurrents of desire around them, and it made her nervous, so she broke their shared gaze. _He's only holding your hand, Gwendolyn! Sheesh. Calm down._

"It's just what I do, my lord," Gwen finished, using his title to put some distance between them. She told herself that she was imagining what she felt, but Gwen couldn't control the way her muscles tensed when his hand moved over hers ever so slightly. For his part, Éomer knew that despite their shared bath, this woman _was_ an innocent as Grimbold had said. _She is a pale flower – waiting to be plucked._ _He saw the translucence of her skin, felt the softness of it under his fingertips._ _Gods, I want her so._ _He wanted to feel that same softness across all of his skin, covering his in the most intimate of ways. Lust_ coursed through his body despite his previous sexual satiation, but this time, his lust was not for Bridget. That cold woman paled in comparison as he looked at Gwendolyn, though he knew he made her nervous when he did so.

His emotional turmoil made him more reckless than he normally would be, and Éomer acknowledged with some satisfaction that he quite liked making the little woman flush. He watched with pleasure as she carefully, tentatively met his gaze again, and he was rewarded with a flush before it slid away again. _Good Gods, but she is lovely._ He rubbed his thumb over her soft, tiny hand, feeling the tension ratchet up between them every second the silence between them lengthened more. Dismay could be seen clearly in her cool green gaze, but he could not bring himself to feel badly about it.

He was fast forgetting his reasons for not having her for himself, and was quickly losing his wits under the onslaught of grief mingled with desire. Éomer found this woman to be a far more potent distraction from his deeper emotions. Had the woman before him been anyone else, it may have been bearable to walk away. He should walk away. Honor aside, Éomer found himself nearly as a caught as Gwen was. "It is a fine trait in a woman, sweet Gwendolyn," he finally replied. Her name rolled off his tongue, and she flushed again, making him bite back a wolfish smile. _Poor little doe._ He really did affect her, and both of them knew it. Éomer doubted the girl knew he was affected as much by her.

Gwen stood frozen inches from the enormous lord, fast getting a crick in her neck as she looked up at him, but unable to move even if she wanted to. She didn't. A curious, pleasant weight had settled in her abdomen, pooling heat inside. Something between them seemed to tie them inevitably together when they weren't resisting, and Gwen wanted to experience more.

He was weaving a spell around them somehow, she thought, and the deep baritone of his voice tightened the net around them both. The tension was almost too much for her to take, and Gwen shivered when she made the mistake of bringing her eyes back up to his. His own gaze had sharpened, and darkened, with heat and Gwen knew he felt her tremor. _Damn it, control yourself already!_ _Gwen berated herself, but it was half-hearted at best._ "I wish it was more in my nature to comfort another as you do, so selflessly," Éomer said, distracting Gwen from her thoughts. His voice lowered as his body did, and in that heartbeat Gwen realized he was going to kiss her.

Anticipation crawled through her as the moment lengthened, and her heart jumped into her throat when he brought his great leonine head descended to within a hairs breath of her own. Gwen could not deny she had dreamed of this moment. There was no denying that Gwen wanted this kiss. "But it is more in mine to take what comfort I can from others," Éomer whispered, the breath of his words fanning out over her face. She understood then that he was going to take from her. With a shuddered breath, Gwen waited, not daring to move.

His lips pressed to hers heavily a heartbeat later, stealing the breath from her chest when the warm, firm pressure of them on her mouth registered. Gwen gasped, and Éomer took advantage, plundering the moist depths of her sweet mouth with his tongue. Gwen lost herself as their tongues dueled in fiery symphony for control, and she arched into his hand when it released hers to travel to her head and hips, bringing her up swiftly into the curve of his big – _too big –_ body. Before she could register it, Éomer shifted, placing one big hand behind her head to gain complete control. The feel of his thumb at her jaw, together with the overwhelming sensation of his teeth nipping at her lips, made her weak. Her body bowed unnaturally as she was stretched into the curve of his.

Éomer's mouth plundered hers commandingly, instantly overwhelmed Gwen's defenses, and her resolve to stay away from him came crashing down around her. His mouth slanted over hers expertly, giving her scarcely a heartbeat of breathing time before kissing her deeply again, and when Gwen softly pressed her lips against his in a tentative first response, he made a rough sound in his throat. The world had begun to spin.

Effortlessly Éomer lifted Gwen against him and held her there, one hand buried in her thick curls that clenched to pull at her scalp, making her gasp. After a moment, he pressed her against the wall of the corridor as he slid her skin against his. Wet heat had begun to pool at the juncture of her thighs, and Gwen pressed all the more firmly against his muscular torso in response. She was going up in flames, from a few kisses, but she was past caring. For his part, the genuine, innocent response Gwen showed him ignited Éomer's blood, and made him crazy to have her. Gwen was forced to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders for support when he did not return her to the floor, but she was glad she did. His hair fell around his shoulders temptingly, and Gwen buried her hands in the silky, thick mass. _It should be illegal for a man to have hair this good_. The rasp of his beard against her face tickled, but she found she loved to touch it, too. Her hands traveled back to his hair and gripped fistfuls as they kissed, and she could feel the broad, hard contours of his chest against her body. She was going down – fast, and she couldn't bring herself to care one lick in that moment. She had never been kissed like Éomer kissed her, and she didn't – _really didn't_ – want it to end.

His hands clenched her waist as he changed the angle of their kiss with a rough sound, and he deepened it with a broad, forceful stroke of his tongue as she gasped again. Overwhelmed, pleasure coursing though her body, Gwen groaned a protest when Éomer finally broke their hot kiss, panting for air. His darkened, lusty eyes met hers as he lowered her back to the floor, slow inch by slow inch, supporting her against him and allowing her to regain her balance. Éomer breathed through his nose as he watched her, as if he had run a great distance. Gwen pulled away from his muscular body weakly, scarcely able to process what had just occurred.

 _Holy shit – I just had the kiss of my life._ _Like a lightning bolt, Gwen recalled the images in Galadriel's mirror, realizing that this had been what she had seen then. The ground itself seemed to be shifting, and it had yet to still._ The alarming thing was that she wanted much, _much_ more than that, and Grimbold's warning words echoed in her head, sobering her better than a cold shower. _She shouldn't be doing this._ Hastily, Gwen met Éomer's fierce gaze regretfully. "Your sister is waiting for me," she murmured. "Excuse me." He released her, and Gwen mourned the loss of his skin on hers. Determined not to give in to the dark promise his eyes – and his kisses – betrayed, Gwen forced herself to walk away from him, though she did so almost blindly. When she arrived outside Éowyn's chambers, Gwen stood outside the door, willing the low, dull throb in her abdomen away. Her heart and her thoughts were racing. _The truth thrummed_ _a tattoo_ _in her veins with each beat of her heart_ _._

 _She wouldn't be a virgin much longer at this rate._

* * *

 _Please review!_


	43. Contemplations

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Two: Contemplations**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Éomer stood frozen in the hall, for long moments after Gwendolyn fled, trying to wrest his raging lust back under control. It was a good thing she was gone – he had been moments away from carrying her down to his chambers to have her under him. He cursed himself and his impulsiveness, knowing it had been wrong to kiss her as he had. _You scared her, you ass._ Éomer cursed Grimbold, too, for planting the notion in the woman's head that he would hurt her if he bedded her, and he cursed her innocence and youth as well. He had a rule for such things – well, two rules. The first was that the women he bedded must always be willing and of age. Gwendolyn fit the bill on both accounts there. The second rule was that he would bed only women who knew well enough what it meant to do so, and _that_ , he feared, was the problem. The woman quickly bringing him to his knees was wholly an innocent. _She had even tasted innocent_.

It really only made him want her more, knowing that no man had ever had what he could have.

She probably thought him a scoundrel, and a cad. Grimbold certainly made it seem that way. It was true that until recent years he had been openly unattached and enjoyed many a female's company, he now was more serious-minded about such things. He took mistresses. Éomer chose carefully, mindful of overly-attached women. _That's why I only go to Bridget now._ But even now, he had begun to grow apart from the widow, and the death of his cousin had only inflamed his desire to be done with her more. But, there were advantages to having a willing, experienced woman like Bridget in his bed. She understood there could never be anything more between them than sex. Women like Gwen – innocent, young – they saw romance and marriage. And that he couldn't give her, even if he wanted to.

Frustrated with himself, Éomer stalked down the hall, wishing he hadn't been so aggressive with the young woman. _I don't want to scare her away._ For all his desire to have her under him for long hours, he found he was growing to like her. He wanted her in his bed, yes, but she was worth more than a moment's distraction, and he knew that. Gwendolyn was a good person, and far as he could tell, a good friend to his sister. It was clear by her treatment of others that she had a good, kind heart, and a true kindness for others' plights. It would not do to treat her callously. _She's worth far more than Bridget on her worst day, and that goes for any other woman I've bedded._

He had no intentions of breaking her heart, but damn if he didn't want to bed her with a furious passion. It was far more than he had ever felt before. Éomer entered his chambers, sending the heavy door crashing into the wall as he stalked inside in a sudden fit of anger, and set to undressing for a much needed washing. His thoughts were heavy and brooding as he contemplated the innocent woman he had held just minutes before. Éomer knew it would be best for her if he stopped this dance of desire, for many, many reasons. He reminded himself she was an innocent, a kind-hearted, young, beautiful innocent. _She's the marrying type, besides, Éomer. The argument went round and round in his mind._

But the conflict ran deeply in him. The stubborn, brave little woman called out all his baser instincts – the need to fuck and to bend to his will – strongly. And to keep her – oh yes, to keep her in his bed until it ruined her. He definitely couldn't keep her. As Théoden's nephew, Éomer would be expected to make a royal match, and thus could never consider even the idea of marriage to a commoner. More besides, just because she was not suited to _him_ in the family way didn't mean she couldn't secure a good match for herself one day. _Why are you building a case against yourself, Éomer?_ He berated himself, and cursed his need for honor. _You want her, so take her!_ His body practically roared with desire, in complete agreement, but he knew his path as a man and as a royal of the House of Éorl would be tarnished should he continue with this pleasurable game involving the young woman. He tugged at his hair in frustration. _But I desire her so._

The memory of her lips upon his, her body against his, had him clenching his hands at his sides into fists, as his body throbbed. But her innocent, kind gaze flickered in his mind, and his consciousness won out over his lust. _I cannot take her._ He sighed. _She can never be mine._ It was probably for the best that she was afraid of his intentions – she would stay away from him, and leave temptation out of arm's reach. Damn if he didn't hate the idea of it at that moment, though. He wanted her spread out in his bed for days. _But it is not to be._ Sighing heavily, Éomer turned his mind to preparing for the funeral he did not want to attend.

* * *

Gwen had taken to writing in her new journal everyday, much to Éowyn's fascination. The older woman had another book of blank pages for her as a gift, saying that she had had the thing for years and had never used it. "My uncle had always hoped I would develop a fondness for the pen as his wife and sister had," Éowyn explained. She looked at the slim book in her hands a little sadly. "I never did. I am glad that you will get some use out of it one day – you write far more than I!" With a smile, the golden-haired woman passed it over to Gwen. And the younger female wrote often – of Théodred's funeral that very day, and of her confused, jumbled thoughts concerning the King's newest heir. _Éomer._ This book was only for her eyes, and no others. While Éowyn dressed, Gwen wrote.

 _March 6th, III 3019_

 _I have high hopes for this diary, that it may serve as a reminder in years past of my thoughts during this difficult year. What I wouldn't give sometimes for a simple typewriter. Anyway..._

 _The King's son was laid to rest today under his burial mound. Éowyn told me of the great swaths of simbelmynë, bunches small white flowers that are named for grief and remembrance, will one day cover the Prince's tomb completely. If the other mounds are any indication, Théodred's will look as if it is capped in snow soon enough. It is beautiful and yet sorrowful. The ceremony itself was not unlike those found on Earth in the modern day, but there are unique customs I found somewhat confusing, like the placing of worldly goods in the tomb before it is sealed. To me, you just don't bury things with a body like that, but it was poignant to watch the man's life pass into the tomb. Éomer added, in addition to Théodred's sword and shield, a lute and a fiddle. Éowyn told me later they were included because her cousin had so loved playing music. And do you know, diary, that she asked that I stand with her during the burial?_

 _It was an honor to do so, but I confess to you that I felt very much out of place standing among the deeply grieving women of Edoras. Standing with Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn would have been much preferable to garnering looks from the other ladies for my dry-eyed sadness. I think, though, that it was worth it; Éowyn seemed to take comfort in my presence, strangely enough. I think we might end up close friends. She is a nice woman, and I like her very much. Anyway, the King's son was buried, and I confess that I did not wait my turn to leave – the heavy weight of grief in that place was too much for me to bear. It reminded me painfully of Boromir's hasty funeral. God, I miss that man!_

She really did. Sadness welled in her chest painfully as his face rose in her mind's eye. After a brief moment, Gwen continued to read what she had written, dotting away the few tears that pricked in her her eyes.

 _At the funeral feast afterward, the King made a speech in honor of his son. It brought tears to my eyes (but what doesn't, honestly?)!_ Gwen smiled at that line, knowing that she could definitely be considered the overly-emotional type. It was one of her flaws, by her thinking. _He spoke of holding his child for the first time, of hearing his cries, of feeling the rush of love only a parent can know. And he bravely spoke of waking from the fog Gríma had surrounded him in, to see his niece before him, and a radiant joy filling him. (Éowyn sat beside me, by the way, and beamed like crazy during this part). Of course, we all knew of the point of the speech, and when the man wept in front of us, tears fell from all our eyes. I can't begin to imagine the depth of a father's pain. Then, to everyone's expectation but mine, he named Éomer his heir. The handsome man rose to accept a chalice from his uncle, and drank from it, swearing to avenge his cousin's death at the hands of Saruman's uruk-hai before he is crowned King. He looked as fierce as I've ever seen him in that moment, and despite my efforts, I couldn't help but be aware of his every movement. Damn hormones! Gah._

Gwen looked up from her diary, hearing someone stop outside the door. When no knock came, she continued to read.

 _On my way back to my chambers, I ran into Éomer again, and the sight of him sent all sorts of crazy, tingling emotions through me. Really, it's effing ridiculous how much he can affect me with just a look! Thankfully he avoided my gaze altogether, and we passed without incident. Diary, I have no idea what I will do if he kisses me again. I was ready to rip off my clothes and let him have me there in the hallway, and that was just ONE single kiss! The man is pure sin, I swear. Sometimes the wanting is so strong that I don't even care if he uses me, and I would give anything to spend a night in his bed._

 _After those moments I feel hideously guilty, because my mother would be so ashamed if she knew I wanted premarital sex so badly. Hah. Truth be told he's got me spinning in doubts – is it worth it? Is it not? My thoughts turn it round and round constantly. I not two days ago swore that I wouldn't become weak with lust for the man – and yet here I am, drowning in it. Is this how it's supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel this way? I don't know, diary, but I have no idea what step to take next._

Gwen really didn't know where to go from here. Every time she saw the damn man she fairly panted with lust – it was ridiculous, really. Yes, she desired him, but she wanted to stay true to herself above all. Gwen just wasn't sure how do that in this situation, because she didn't know what she wanted, nor what such choices meant here in Middle-Earth. It wasn't like anyone she knew up to this point had spoken to her about sexual customs! Wishing she had her mother to talk to about it, Gwen shook her head and read further.

 _I do know this – whatever I do – whatever happens – it will be the best choice I can make for myself. No hasty decisions. One thing about it, if there is one thing Théodred's funeral has reminded me of, (and with Boromir's loss as well) it's that life is too short to worry about the future, even tomorrow. I could be dead by this time next year, and the more I think about it, the more I don't want to die a virgin. So there's that, too. The lust I feel doesn't scare me; what scares me is that it will turn into love...for the wrong guy. I know how I am, diary, and I'm not naive enough to think Éomer would ever consider me future relationship material – he'll be King one day! So all it would ever be is sex. Is that enough? I just don't know._

Gwen groaned at the written reminder, torn by indecision.

 _I am coming to hate the constant throb in my body, though, I know that. The tightness, the need for a man, is pretty much always there now. It's kind of pissing me off, actually. I have no clue why my body is acting this way, and I really don't want to ask Aragorn, Legolas, OR Gimli. They would probably have a cow – literally. And Éowyn is Éomer's sister for Pete's sake, so I can't go asking her to help me with her brother! Honestly, I'll be glad when Aragorn decides to move on from Rohan and find Frodo, as I assume now that he's found Merry and Pippin (and that they are safe) we'll go after the Ringbearer. My heart aches with the thought of him and Sam alone in the wilderness. Their peril must be becoming greater by the day, and the thought of the quest failing sends me into a tailspin. I think we should leave. As soon as possible._

Gwen shut the diary once the ink had dried, placing it on the table beside her bed. _Well, I've established one thing: I need to talk to Aragorn about getting the hell out of dodge._ Shaking her head at the utter absurdity that was her first diary entry, Gwen rose, needing some sunlight.

* * *

Gwen walked the streets of Edoras leisurely, taking time to stop and play with the children who crossed her path, to talk to the women of the streets as they went about their day, and to pet any animals she met along the way. It was a pleasant time for her, this walk. Mostly, it was just nice to be alone in her own company while she checked out the sights of the city. She had always been a people person, and the city of Edoras provided her the first real chance to just talk to the people of Middle Earth; in Bree, she had been too confused and afraid of her circumstances to want to speak to strangers. In Rivendell, she had been so caught up in herself that she had barely spoken to Dothiel much of the time, much less the others of the haven. And in Lórien the elves had been too standoffish to strike up random conversation with a human.

But Edoras was a different sort of place altogether. Many of the people she met greeted her like an old family friend: warmly, casually, and by name if they knew it. Even more of the women remembered her from the morning's funeral, and talked with her in low tones about their Prince personally. Gwen slowly came to realize that all, or at least much, of Edoras grieved right along with the royal family. There was a closeness to this community that pleased her greatly. Gwen strolled up the hill carrying a basket of fresh peaches she had been given by a kindly older woman with a gaggle of children at her skirts. Though Gwen was sure the woman had little food to spare for herself, there was no persuading the woman to keep her gift, and so Gwen resolved to share the fine fruit with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli once she returned. Thinking of the Ranger, Gwen was reminded of a niggling thought she had had recently.

 _I really need to speak with Aragorn about Burningstar._ She was terribly anxious to have her weapons back, and she hadn't seen them anywhere. Gwen found herself standing at the top of the hill, looking out over the many white-topped burial mounds of the Kings that lay in the short valley below. Fresh, burning incense was smoking from the top of the Prince's newly-built memorial, and she could see where many gifts and trinkets had been laid down by the people for him. Glancing down at her basket of peaches, Gwen thought to offer up her own humble gift-of-a-gift. She took the winding path down to his mound, emotion clogging her throat when she saw the first bunches of planted simbelmynë over the chamber door.

Solemnly, Gwen took the plumpest peach she had from the basket and laid it at the door next to the countless other gifts. Silently she stood, contemplating the man who had been loved by so many. _I didn't know you, Théodred...but, I wish I had. I'm sure you were a great man. Gwen_ paused, trying to think of the right words. _Did you know how much you were loved by your people? It is obvious to me that it was so very much. I remember something my papou used to tell me, in his crazy Greek accent. "Good men can't ever see their effect on others in this life. That is what makes them good." I believe this is true, Théodred, and that you were a good man indeed._

Gwen recalled the wailing moans of the mourners at the funeral and shivered when a cold wind blew over her. _May you ever rest in peace._

* * *

 _Please review._


	44. Hot and Cold

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _I'm hoping to have a couple more chapters up today! So sorry for the stilted update schedule - after my husband deploys I'll have that "wiggle room" time to write like I'd like. Thanks for understanding and I truly appreciate all reviews and support this story is receiving._

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Four: Hot and Cold  
**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Éomer led Gwen away feeling a sense of dread. He didn't want to have this conversation at all, but his honor demanded that he seek Gwen's forgiveness for his indecent handling of her, and swear to never touch her again. Even as all his body seemed to want to do in this moment with her was continue down the road on which they had started. Internally, he cursed himself. _Damn it, I don't have a choice._ Especially now that his uncle had made him heir. There was no other option for them but this.

He stopped a short ways from the training grounds, seeking privacy for himself and her. When Éomer turned and looked at down at her, he carefully hid his immediate, gut-punching reaction to how close she was. Éomer met her innocent gaze and read the clear desire there, on one hand pleased at his affect on her, and on the other knowing that it had created this mess between them. _She is Éowyn's friend, and a good woman. Remember that, Éomer._ He cautioned himself to tread carefully.

Her eyes bled rising confusion at his stoic, unexpected reactions, and he cursed himself yet again. In doing his duty, she would believe he was toying with her. "What can I do for you, Éomer?," Gwendolyn asked tentatively, in a soft, sexy voice that made his body tighten with a wave of lust. _You can do so many things for me, little one._ Éomer removed himself from those thoughts, but it took all of his control not to draw her against his body as her eyes begged him to. Hastily, he cleared his throat, determined to finish this quickly.

"I wanted to take the time and apologize to you for my behavior yesterday, Gwendolyn," Éomer replied lowly. He could see these words were unexpected to her. She looked stunned. _You are doing the right thing,_ he reminded himself. It didn't _feel_ right, though. Still, he continued, "It was wrong of me to touch you as I did, without permission, and I want to assure you that it will never again." _By Bema, what a lie._ It would take all his willpower to make it true. Éomer could barely look at her, but the shock in her face was clear; Gwen had been expecting something else entirely.

"I never want to dishonor you, milady," Éomer murmured, bowing low before her in supplication, hoping beyond hope she would read his own desires despite his words. She seemed unable to form a reply, so he quickly excused himself and walked back to the training ring, leaving her standing there disappointed and alone. Gwen nor Éomer noticed Grimbold turn away from the scene with a shake of his head.

* * *

Hours later, Gwen stood, chilled to the bone, as an icy gust of wind swept through the village proper. The frigidness of the air was shocking, made more so by the contrasting clear, sunny day. "When does it get warm around here, again?" She called over her shoulder to Edda as she hunched into her work, glancing at the pudgy Eorlingas woman with a round, kind face and brown eyes. Gwen wanted spring to come with a vengeance already; Winter in Rohan was bitter. The other woman swatted one of her sons on the head with a rag playfully before turning to Gwen with a laugh splitting her features. "Oh, not for another moon, I'll wager," the woman replied sympathetically, setting a wicker basket at Gwen's side, smiling at the pouting face the shorter woman made at the darkening sky. Hands on her hips, Edda pointed at the low clothesline Gwen stood at, slowly taking clothes from the line to fold.

"You sure you don't mind doin' that laundry, girl?" she asked with an unsure expression on her brown and leathered face. Gwen smiled back at the heavy-set woman brightly. "Not at all," she insisted, pulling the linens from the older woman's hands. "I was going stir crazy in that hall today," Gwen laughed, "Aand needed to get out!" Edda laughed gaily at the odd, yet kind-hearted girl; the sound was deeper than Gwen's own, and more mellow.

"Yes, well, the ladies and I always have somethin' we could be givin' you to do," Edda replied, "For as long as your offerin'." Absently, with the blasé air of a woman long-used to doing so, she turned to reprimand another young son, this time for tormenting his sister. Both children were under the age of ten, by Gwen's estimation, and extremely energetic. They were both blonde and happy, despite being obviously poor. Lost in thought, Gwen continued to remove clothing from the line absently. She had come here desperately needed a change of scenery from the growing intrigues and talks of the hall, and had chosen to walk down through the city that morning, stopping to speak with every person who recalled her from the previous day. _Which was damn near every one, too_.

Seeing Edda so busy corralling children in front of the house, making lunch for her family, and feeding her newborn all at once stirred Gwen's sense of compassion. There was a lot she could do to be a good Samaritan, as her mother always wanted her to be. With that in mind, Gwen had offered to help her with a few of the household chores that needing doing, and had been there, in her home, ever since. "Bless you, Lady Gwen," the grateful mother said, nodding toward the laundry. "You are a truly kind woman, to be sure." Edda radiated thankfulness, and Gwen nodded, smiling. It always felt good to help people.

Edda disappeared into her home to make dinner, leaving Gwen to sounds of the village. Suddenly, a darkly-clad young soldier appeared on the road, hollering for help in Rohirric. Gwen had gotten Éowyn to teach her only simple phrases so far, and didn't recognize all the words the soldier spoke, but the tone was sufficient enough to understand his need was urgent. _What on Earth?_ Quizzically, she studied the man.

Catching sight of Gwen outside with the laundry, the stranger ran towards her, speaking in Rohirric swiftly, and motioning for her to come with him. Gwen was not able to understand even a word of what he spoke. His eyes kept darting between her face and her hands, and he was pointing at them insistently. _What is he saying?_ _Gwen was confused._ Drawn out of the house again by the noise, Edda stepped outside to see what was the matter. Frustrated with Gwen's lack of understanding, the soldier turned instead to the older Eorlingas woman, speaking in rapid-fire Rohirric. Edda's eyes grew wide with concern, and she nodded before turning to Gwen. "He says he needs you to come with him now," Edda translated solemnly. "There is a mare in the stables who has foaled early this year, and that he and his commander, Hammalbrand, need you to come and help." She paused, listening to the soldier explain further.

Though Gwen recognized Hammalbrand's name, she was confused as to why he would need her to help with a foal being born. The young soldier made a sound of frustration and spoke again to Edda, who said, "You have small hands," she explained. "They are needed." Still confused but convinced to go with the man, Gwen nodded, placed the laundry she had folded by the door, and followed the soldier up the street. _Okay...what can I do that they can't?_

"Don't wait up for me, Edda!" Gwen called back before looking to see Edda waving her towel in response. Gwen followed the soldier as quickly as she could, not knowing what was wrong. She wondered what they could possibly need her for. _I know next to nothing about animal husbandry!_ She wasn't a particularly unique healer either. Nonetheless, Gwen hurried along behind the soldier, and soon they were standing inside the cavernous Royal Stables of Meduseld, where all the many horses of the royal family were housed. The smell of horseflesh and cedar filled her nostrils, and she understood immediately why Éomer always smelled as he did. Clearly, he spent a great deal of time in this place.

Just the scent of him made her flush, but remembering his insistence that nothing could ever happen between them again made her mentally come up short. _Some things weren't meant to be_. She would just have to work to let go of whatever spark there was between them. Thoughts returning to the matter at hand, Gwen searched for and found Hammalbrand waiting anxiously at the stable doors, and when he saw her, he looked relieved to see her. "Oh, bless you," he gasped in relief. "You'll be perfect!" To the soldier, he said, "Thank you, Deran. That will be all. Return to your post." He turned back to Gwen and grabbed her between his hands. "I am so glad he found someone," Hammalbrand exclaimed, pulling her past several stalls as he spoke. "I was worried that all the women nearby would be unable to help!"

He pulled a confused Gwen into a very large stall strewn with dusty hay, where she was unsurprised to find a haggard-looking Éomer and a sweaty Grimbold sitting in the hay next to a _very_ pregnant, heaving horse. For a moment, Gwen was shocked that Éomer would ne here. _Of course he'd be with the horses if there was a problem._ He didn't look up as they entered, so he didn't immediately notice her presence. Seeing him attempting to comfort the creature turned over her heart.

Taking in the sight of the poor, obviously distressed animal, Gwen looked to the older warrior for answers. "What's going on, Hammalbrand?" she murmured softly. Éomer's eyes shot up at the sound of her voice, but a loud, horsy cry filled the air in place of Hammalbrand's reply. Éomer's sharp, familiar piercing gaze found hers, and her heart moved again when she saw the anxiety lacing his normally fierce, flat eyes. After a moment, the horse quieted.

Hammalbrand quickly explained, waving down at the huge grey beast. "This mare was allowed to breed too early – a mistake in fields, I am sure, Lord Éomer," he added hastily when the royal looked away from the sweating beast to scowl darkly. Hammalbrand brought his attention back to her. "This is her first foal, and it is always the hardest, of course, under normal circumstances." _Obviously._ The mare was covered in a shiny sheen of sweat, and was panting deeply between brays. It was obvious at the first glance that she was in distress. Grimbold was rubbing the mare with a wet bit of cloth, clucking soothingly at her. "She is in labor, Lady Gwen, as you can see," Hammalbrand explained, motioning with his hands expressively. Gwen couldn't miss the worry in his eyes. "And it isn't going well. The foal is turned wrong inside the womb, which is why she looks so large." Instantly, Gwen grasped the enormity of the problem. Even in humans, a breech birth could mean countless problems. _Oh that's not good._

"They will both die if we cannot get it turned," Grimbold added darkly, and the gravel in his voice made her shiver. Clearly, he was upset. Gwen met his eyes, moved by his emotion for the creature, before looking at the poor, suffering mare. She was a delicately boned beauty, for sure. Éomer's face contorted with every agonized whinny she gave, and he was obviously very concerned for this horse. In that moment, she began to understand how the Rohirrim were considered the horse-lords of Middle Earth. They shared a unique bond with the creatures, clearly. Her heart clenched, and Gwen nodded to the older man at her side.

She needed no convincing. "What can I do to help?" Gwen asked resolutely, kneeling down beside the stricken creature She was determined to do whatever she could, if it would only take that horrified, genuinely afraid look from the eyes of the men. Because she felt brave, Gwen clasped Grimbold's slightly shaking hand with her own, gratified when his fingers clenched strongly around her own and held fast. The brawny warrior's eyes warmed when they met hers again, causing her to blush. She hadn't meant the gesture to be so intimate, but it was clear the other man had taken it that way.

Éomer's voice cut through Hammalbrand's, an anxious thread of sound that commanded strongly. "You must enter her, Gwendolyn," he ordered, "And turn the foal yourself." His eyes clashed with hers fiercely when she looked at him, surprised. "Our hands are much too large to fit, but yours will more easily." His fierce, aggressive gaze was on her in full force, and Gwen felt almost accused by his eyes, but his face held only anxiety. The warmth of Grimbold's grip on hers resettled her. _They want me to do what, now?_ Aghast at the idea of _entering an animal_ , Gwen almost refused, but another high, pained whinny sounded, and it tore at her heart, setting her determination to help. She shook her head, kneeling down more fully beside the animal, and Hammalbrand looked relieved at her near immediate acquiescence.

"First you will need - " Hammalbrand began, only to be cut off suddenly by Gwen, who rose abruptly. "I will need to wash my hands before we do this," she declared. Éomer's darkened eyes fell on hers, a silent push to explain herself. "It will help prevent sickness," Gwen said, realizing they must not have a real idea where infections came from in this world. She wouldn't waste time explaining furter now. "I need soap and hot water, Hammalbrand," Gwen commanded. The healer-warrior nodded and took off in search of what she asked for. Gwen watched as Grimbold caressed the mare's boxy head gently, crooning in Rohirric to her. Gwen's heart turned over at the tenderness he showed the laboring creature. His eyes moved to hers then, and _something_ passed between them, making her shiver at the suddenness of it. He winked at her playfully even as he spoke sweet nothings to the creature. Gwen blushed. _What is it about these men?_

Hammalbrand returned with a sloshing bucket of hot water and a cake of lye soap, breaking the moment. He panted with exertion, showing Gwen just how quickly the old man had moved. Without a word she bent and took the soap to her hands and arms, not knowing how much of herself would be needed. Once she was satisfied most of the germs on her hands and arms were gone, she rinsed and flung her hands in the air to help dry them. Gwen knelt with Hammalbrand by the enormously bulging mound of horseflesh, and she nearly lost her nerve when the horse's abdomen contracted visibly, strongly.

 _Oh god, I can't believe I'm doing this._ _Gwen's stomach clenched in sympathetic pain for the creature._ Hammalbrand was speaking, though, and Gwen forced herself to concentrate on his words. "After the contraction ends, Gwen, you need to enter her and feel around for the foal. Be quick," he cautioned, "Because you don't want her womb to clamp down on you during her pains. You will have to turn the foal head first between them. Understand?" She nodded, swallowing heavily, and already sweat covered her brow. It was _hot_ in the stables. How had she ever been cold before? Gwen tried not to look at the poor horse's vagina, feeling like she was getting ready to violate the creature. _They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't necessary._

Éomer spoke to the mare almost constantly now, and she could barely understand a word of what he was saying. He was _crooning_. Grimbold was watching her keenly, and he tugged on her braid to get her attention. "You can do this, beauty," he murmured gently, intimately, and his words warmed her in that moment. Grimbold was no Éomer, but he was charming and sweet to her, and also very handsome. Gwen smiled nervously at him and nodded in reply, swallowing hard. She missed how Éomer scowled at them over the top of the horse. When the mare stopped shuddering and relaxed, Gwen took a deep breath and at Hammalbrand's command, pressed her hand into the mare's flesh. She tried to focus on her task, but the animal's shudder as she entered her womb made her want to gag. Luckily for her the horse made no sound at this invasion, and only trembled in pain. _Oh my god, this poor sweet baby._ Hammalbrand was speaking to her again. "Be careful of the wee hooves, lass," the older man crooned softly. "They will be sharp."

Nodding, Gwen felt around for the foal, not really sure what it would feel like. Her hand bumped something lumpy and fleshy, and she figured she had found the baby. "I feel it," she breathed, huffing in effort. The work was slow going and more difficult than she expected, because the mare's great, wide muscles were pushing against her efforts at all times. Clumsily, Gwen felt what seemed to be a tiny little leg, and she traced its' direction to the hoof. Sure enough, the legs were downward.

Éomer's deep voice, low and crooning, stopped speaking to the horse for a moment to say, "Another contraction is coming, Gwendolyn," he warned her. She barely got her hand out in time. She didn't look at her gooey arm, knowing it would disgust her, and they waited through the contraction in silence. Grimbold was murmuring praise aloud – to her or the horse, Gwen didn't know, but his warm support made her feel better about all this. When the laborious push was over, she resumed her work, carefully nudging the poor foal around in its mother's womb. As she felt the long nose of the foal inside turn downward in the womb at last, a second head bumped her hand, making Gwen freeze.

"Uh, guys...I think there's a second foal in here," she puffed. All three men looked startled at the news. "That's nigh on impossible," Grimbold exclaimed after a heartbeat. Hammalbrand nodded and added, "Well get the first one turned and we'll worry about the second one after." Nodding, Gwen eased her hand back over the first foal, assuring herself it was in place to come out at the next contraction. "I think I've got it, Hammalbrand," she said, as Éomer announced, "Another, Gwendolyn." His warning was just in time too. Gwen exited the mare just as her contraction squeezed, and the poor girl rose up with the force of it, crying out. Gwen watched in amazement as the foal slid wetly out of the horse, landing in a heap of mucus-covered limbs in the straw.

The mare gave another shuddering cry as a second foal followed the first out, looking tiny and clearly unhealthy. The three of them watched for long minutes as the mare picked herself up and began to tend to her babies. "Twins!" Hammalbrand whispered, in awe, and with a curious sadness as well. Gwen didn't understand his emotions, but she felt as if she had accomplished something today after all. Grimbold hugged her close despite the muck covering her, which Gwen allowed herself to enjoy immensely in those moments, and Hammalbrand's words were the only speech anyone spoke for a while.

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 _Please review._


	45. A Change in Direction

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Five: A Change in Direction  
**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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Gwen scrubbed the unmentionable goo from her arm using the now-lukewarm water from the bucket while Hammalbrand and Grimbold inspected the newly cleaned foals. After examining them critically, taking in their behavior and that of their mother's, Hammalbrand declared grimly, "I cannot believe there are two, my lord!" he said. His voice betrayed his sadness. "Twins of the same sac, by the looks of it." Gwen didn't understand why that was bad, as his tone seemed to indicate. Grimbold moved out of the stall to allow the others more room, and crossed the stables to stand at her side.

"Why is it a bad thing that there are two?" she whispered up at him curiously, a sense of dread lingering in her. It was strange for her that the men acted so sad; a birth should have been a joyous occasion. "Horses cannot carry twins without grave harm to both foals, Gwen," he murmured, bending down from his massive height to whisper into her ear. "You see how small the other is?" She did, clearly. It was almost half the size of the first. "It is likely he will not survive the night." Regret and sadness tinged his words.

Gwen listened to the older man rave about their beauty with quite a bit more sadness now. "That's terrible!" she replied, no longer feeling so good about her day. Grimbold nodded and bent to help her clean off the gunk from her arms. He was close, but she didn't mind at all, instead choosing to enjoy the warmth of his body. "They have Mearas blood, I'm sure of it," he murmured as his hands wiped at her arms gently. Hammalbrand had the wild idea that the mare had been impregnated by the lordly horses living wild on the plains – but it did seem plausible. The foals were even suckling, though the small one only very weakly and at Éomer's crooning, gentle behest. He had not taken his eyes from the newborns yet, and the sight turned over Gwen's heart.

Gwen rinsed her arms clean of soap and flung her hands at Grimbold playfully to rid them of the wetness. He grinned at her, but it was muted. Together they stood and watched the foals. She had never seen even the solemn, often somber Hammalbrand so sad and quiet. Gwen could tell he absolutely adored horses, as did Éomer. The sun was now all but set in the winter sky, casting the stalls and their occupants in shadows. The older man rose from his crouch at the foals' side and caught sight of her standing there with Grimbold. "Gwen, come!" Hammalbrand beckoned to her. "You simply must come look at the foals, my lady. Without you they would not be here at all," he sighed heavily. He pulled her into the quiet stall again, and she had no choice but to follow. Gwen entered the space to find two foals sitting prettily in the hay.

Their mother was recovering quite nicely by the looks of it, and she laid near them protectively. Gwen's heart swelled at the sight of the two sweet foals bumping noses and making little noises, and she was so grateful she had been able to help them come into the world. The tiny one was barely moving, though, and she wanted to cry at the thought of it dying. Hammalbrand rubbed her arm, seeing the emotion in her eyes. "You did good, girl," He murmured before turning and excusing himself from the stall, claiming to need to tell the others about the birth. Gwen watched him over her shoulder as he barreled from the room, smiling a bit at the healer's haste.

Nearby, Éomer shifted, his face thrown into shadow where the light did not completely touch it. "Thank you for your help, Gwendolyn," he said heavily. His voice was rough and gravely with weariness. Grimbold moved to stand by her again, towering over her. "I, too, am grateful you came," he said, cupping her elbow gently. "Without you, would have lost all three of them," Éomer finished solemnly. Gwen's eyes roved over the new family, nodding. "I know. I'm glad I could help." Gwen couldn't resist smiling up at the large man standing next to her. The way he looked at her made her feel wanted, even if only in friendship, and it was in direct contrast with how Éomer had made her feel today.

"Might I walk you back to the hall, my lady Gwen?" Grimbold bowed gallantly beside her, and this time Gwen _did_ see Éomer's scowl. He looked almost... jealous? _Oh, so that's how it's to be, then, is it?_ She knew better than to play with that emotion. Éomer had chosen, hadn't he? His kiss had awoken something inside of her, something she wanted to explore. If Éomer didn't want to, that was his choice. _Maybe Grimbold is interested._ What could it hurt to find out? Smiling up at the other man, Gwen nodded. "Let's go."

They took the long way back to the hall, talking softly through the quiet streets. "It twas a blessing you were there with us today, Gwen," Grimbold said softly. The tall man glanced down at her where she clasped his arm, smiling down at her gently. "Both foals might have died instead of just the weaker of the two, like Éomer said." Gwen met his gaze sadly, hating to think of such a tiny creature having not even a chance at life. "So there's no chance for the second one? At all?" She had always been one to support the underdog.

Regretfully, Grimbold shook his head. "There is all but none," he replied, his already deep voice growing rocky with dark emotion. "More likely, the foal will be neglected by the mother, and we'll have to put it down," he said, and clucked when he saw tears well in her eyes, stopping them both and pulling her into his strong arms. "Hey now, what's this?"

He gently slid a warm hand under her chin and lifted her face to his eyes. "Don't cry, beauty," he entreated. "Life is not easy – and it is the way of things that we all die one day." His eyes were gentle and compassionate, however. It made her so sad to know that the new life of the second foal would never be allowed to flourish. She nodded at his words, comforted by his strength and warmth. "I know," she said, brushing away the stray tears. "It's just very sad." They were standing close together quietly when Éomer appeared on the path behind them, looking stormy and upset.

"We're needed by the King," he called to them tersely before turning and disappearing altogether. Grimbold and Gwen looked at one another, the tender moment between them broken by Éomer's appearance. _Well that's not good. What's going on?_

Grimbold shared a look with her, and they turned to follow the warrior swiftly. When they reached Meduseld and the throne room, they found the King speaking already with Éomer and his sister. Gandalf, Aragorn. Legolas and Gimli stood listening to the side. When he saw them, King Théoden rose from his seat, looking weary, tense, and anxious. Gwen crossed the hall to Éowyn, Gimli and Legolas, who were sitting with a pair of dirty, careworn children whom Gwen did not recognize. She sat heavily, realizing in that moment that she was starving.

Absently, she picked p a roll, and began to eat, eyes and ears open to whatever was going on in the hall today. "What's going on?" she finally asked her friends softly. The trio quickly explained how Saruman's uruk-hai had crossed their borders and amassed in the Fords of Isen.

"News arrived just a little while ago," Éowyn answered. "An attack on Edoras is imminent, according to our scouts." Gwen tensed. She looked toward Legolas and Gimli, knowing that things were about to change in Rohan if that were true. "Well, what are we going to do about it?" she asked, cautiously. Gimli didn't seem very pleased about _that_ particular line of questioning, leaving Legolas to answer.

"The King wishes to empty the city and move to Helm's Deep, an ancient fortress in the southwest, to better protect the people," the elf explained unemotionally. "Gandalf disagrees, and says we should stay here where we can better route the enemy." Legolas leaned in more closely when Grimbold joined in on the clearly heated discussion being had up on the dais. "That is what they have been discussing since before you arrived," he murmured. Gwen immediately saw discussions were not going well, either. Maybe the King thought Éomer would lend him support in this argument, but it seemed his nephew agreed with Aragorn and Gandalf, while Grimbold agreed with the King. Tempers were clearly fraying.

King Théoden seemed to grow more irate with every minute that passed, and finally Éowyn tossed up her hands and motioned to Gwen that they walk. "Come, let's get away before we're killed in the crossfire," she exclaimed wearily. "They'll be at this all night." Together they led the poor, exhausted children down the corridors. Shouting erupted from hall mere moments later and Gwen just shook her head ruefully. _Leave it to men to argue about methods when people's lives are at stake._ "Come," Éowyn beckoned. "Shall we all get ready for bed, then?" She smiled down at the little girl clutching her hand, and Gwen laughed when the two children nodded enthusiastically. It seemed they had no desire to be dirty anymore than she did. The two women led the children to the bathing pools quietly, not wanting to speak of adult things around them. Gwen fetched towels and soap for the children, and soon all four of them were stripped down in the water without a care for their nakedness. _Yet another way Middle Earth seems to be changing me._

Éowyn set to scrubbing the grubby girl down, while Gwen helped the older boy with his back and hair. She laughed at his independence, remembering herself at that age. Gwen had never wanted to hold her mother's hand in the mall or on the street, and would throw a fit if she made her. _Oh what a brat I had been back then_. After they were clean, Gwen and Éowyn quickly scoured their own bodies before hauling the dead-on-their-feet children out of the bath. After the poor siblings were snug in their shared chamber, Éowyn and Gwen walked the corridors of Meduseld together, hoping that by the time they returned to the main hall the arguing will have ceased and a decision will have been made. Gwen told stories of the Fellowship's trip over Caradhras and through Moria while they walked. She spoke of the struggle of losing Gandalf and then Boromir, and of being carried by Legolas into Rohan.

Gwen noticed her Rohirric friend looking at her with a smile and asked, "What is it? Do I have a bug in my hair or something?" Éowyn laughed, and the younger woman was reminded of just how fair and good-looking the other woman was. "Oh, no, Gwen!" she exclaimed gaily, "Nothing like that...I was thinking, just now, of how remarkable a person you are. I can see why my brother likes you so much." She gave the shorter woman a knowing look, and Gwen blushed under her gaze. "It's not like that, Éowyn. He even told me today– " she cut herself off, and Éowyn waited for her to continue. "He even told me he didn't want anything to do with me like that," she finished softly. The other woman made a sound of disbelief, and chuckled _._ "No, he didn't!" Gwen nodded, causing Éowyn's gaze to grow curious and vaguely upset; "The fool," she muttered under her breath. Gwen got the feeling she saw more than she let on, especially where her brother was concerned. Finally, Éowyn replied more loudly, "Éomer is a foolish man at times. He will come to his senses eventually." _If it isn't too late by then._ The words seem to hang in the silence that followed.

They turned the final corner leading back to the great hall. The silence between them grew companionably. Finally, Éowyn stopped. "I wish things were different, sometimes. Don't you?" she asked. "Things seem to change so quickly in life." After a moment, Éowyn continued walking, lost in thought. Her voice was wistful, and Gwen surmised that she was thinking of Théodred. She thought of Frodo in that moment, of his lament that the Ring had ever come to him. Boromir's face mingled with that of her parents, and she nodded, a sudden lump in her throat. _Life has a way of throwing curve balls into the works to keep it interesting, but they don't always turn out for the better._ Gwen nodded, and clasped Éowyn's hand silently, releasing her just as they entered the throne room.

Éomer immediately noticed their return, and she ignored the way his eyes lingered on her. She wouldn't play pawn to whatever battle he had going on inside. Instead, Gwen let her eyes linger on the slightly taller, slimmer Grimbold. His eyes warmed when they met hers, but his features were troubled and dark. Gwen's gaze shifted, and read the worry in Aragorn's face, and feared the worst for them when the decision became clear. _We're leaving Edoras._

She sidled up to Gimli, who looked angry and red. "What's the news?" Gwen whispered the words, but it was Legolas who answered, his mouth a thin line across his face. "The King will order the city emptied on the morrow." Gwen knew him well enough to know he disapproved of the decision. "We make for Helm's Deep."

* * *

Long after the halls had emptied of weary bodies seeking rest, Grimbold could find no peace, instead troubled by long past demons. On such nights when sleep failed to descend, he would walk the halls, lost in thoughts. Tonight, it seemed, would be one such night. He had long since been trained to walk with a light touch, so as to move soundlessly, and such skill he employed to keep from waking those who slumbered in many an alcove throughout the halls. He was restless. Seeking something. What that something was his mind could not settle on, and so he walked.

The halls were cloaked in shadow and silence, that followed him down each corridor and alcove. Surprisingly, his aimless wandering had led him to the Great Hall, where the King's kin and guests had enjoyed a last night of safety before their journey along plains on the morrow. Éowyn lay inclined on a chair in front of the still popping fire, sound asleep. A great beauty, to be sure. Across from her, to his surprise, was Gwen, also asleep. For long moments, he stood over the pair of them, contemplating all that he had done and not done in his life. His mistakes. The lessons he had learned from a selfish, selfish man. In looking at the pair of them, at their beautiful, innocent repose, Grim was more convinced than ever that such creatures deserved the highest regard and treatment.

For all that Éowyn was beautiful, he found his attention lingered not upon the royal, but upon the strange, mysterious woman. The radiant life that showed in her features was muted in sleep, but he found himself no less attracted. There was something different about her, that made him sit up and take notice. Where his Lord's sister was wholly off-limits despite her equally pleasant nature and appearance, this woman remained a question in his mind. She was not Éorlingas, nay, but nor was he a Lord to be concerned with such things.

He studied the smooth, even skin of Gwen's face, noting each delicate feature, and feeling a surge of protectiveness towards the girl. Éomer had proved himself impetuous towards the woman, but Grimbold would do better than that. There was a time when he, too, would have lost himself in the treasure of her womanly form, but experience had made him wiser, and kinder still. Such a creature needed gentling, a sweet care, and friendship as much as pleasure. His brother-in-arms had the same lessons to learn that Grimbold himself had been forced to face years ago. She deserved romance, not just passion. To feel valued, and not just desired. Éomer may have been only years younger than he was, but the heir's own private, stoic nature had stifled his growth in the ways of a woman. It seemed his lord feared all that a woman such as Gwendolyn represented. _The fool._ It was a fond thought. For all that Grim respected the warrior who was his future King, he knew such thinking was a fallacy. _Let him keep his mistresses, then_ , he decided. In the end, Éomer would regret his choice.

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 _I do feel the need to express that there will be no true "love triangles" forming in this story. It'll play out as it's meant to._

 _Please review._


	46. Remaining Friendly

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Six: Remaining Friendly  
**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _Earlier that night:_

Gwen took a deep, calming breath, knowing this entry in her history journal would be the last of the days she could recall from Earth, telling of the night she had inexplicably come to Middle Earth. She had put it off for a few days now, knowing that to write this day in particular would mean the end of that time in her life for good. It would mean letting go at last. Finally. _Nowhere to go but forward._ Hands shaking, Gwen dipped the quill into the pot of ink and sat, contemplating her words.

 _If you are lucky, there are always going to be people in the world who can be considered admirable and worthy of being looked up to – a role model, if you will. My mother was always something else, something more than that to me: She was a believer in the power of hope and light and goodness – and she believed that a person could overcome the most difficult struggles with grace. I still cannot understand how a person can go through life with all it's heartbreaks and trials and not lose the belief in good, or at least lose a bit of the hope in tomorrow. But she had, somehow, come through her life with all of that goodness intact._

 _Growing up with such a person as_ _my mother_ _meant pity parties were rare, and the glass half empty ended up filled to satisfaction before peace could reign in the house. My mother was...is..such a dynamo. The last time I saw my mother, she had been mixing salad in a large bowl. I_ _was s_ _itting at the bar, sipping a Coke, watching, and talking with her. It had been steak and salad night in the Carrick household, and though there had been many just like it in years past, I couldn't have known how differently that day was to end. Maybe if I had, I would have said more. Done more._

 _Momma had been beaming as she tossed the vegetables, laughing at some silly joke I'd told her, happy I would be going out with a friend after so long. I think she was more happy to see me 'bouncing back' from what happened with more vigor than I had shown in months past than anything else, and was taking full advantage of it._

 _I think_ _my attack_ _had forced her to see that sometimes life does throw things at a person that can't be handled or dealt away. And hope? It didn't exist – not for me at that time anyway, and she hated to look into my face and see it. For a long time, she struggled to understand my wild tempers and volatile emotions. She showed such remarkable patience with me, and such love. Without her, I don't think I would have survived the aftermath. I was her only child – many miscarriages over five years had forced her to see that I would always be – and she was protective, especially after the attack. She was so concerned with safety. When Jessie came to pick me up for our camping trip, she checked that I had the little hand-held taser she_ _had_ _bought, the bottle of pepper spray. I don't think it was any easier for her to let me go than it was for me to take that step. She's the person_ _on Earth_ _I miss the most – her comfort, her strength, her unshakable belief in the goodness in people. If I had half of her light and goodness, I'd be a star. I wish everyone one here could have known her._

Gwen stopped writing and returned the quill to the ink pot with a sigh, not feeling that she had given the last image of her mother justice at all. _But it's the last one I have of her, and I don't want to forget it – ever._ She rose from her place at the desk and walked across the room. It was one of her late nights, and the rest of the hall had grown quiet as the nighttime darkness thickened around the spacious halls of Meduseld. The King had ordered the cooks and servants to prepare to leave tomorrow, and Gwen was surprised they hadn't needed more time to stockpile all the food and items that would be needed on their journey. Thinking of leaving made Gwen's heart race. The unknown had always been a source of disquiet for her, and she wrestled with that personal discord every day. _Who knows what's waiting for us out on plains? Saruman could already be in place for an attack!_ _Anxiety was a living entity inside of her, it seemed._

Gwen blew out the last of the candelabras that were lit in the room, and slid into the cool sheets of her bed with a heavy sigh, settling on the pillows comfortably. Just as she closed her eyes, a quiet knock sounded on her door. Curious as to who could need or want her at this hour, Gwen rose and moved to the door, expecting Aragorn or Legolas. She opened it to reveal a solemn Éomer. Surprise filled her along with a pleasant warmth, and she drank his strong, tall form up with a mix of pleasure and anger. _Why is he playing these games? Why can't he just leave me alone if that's what he says is best?_

Then, she realized he was not his usual self at all. Sadness laced through his features and drew concern from her. "Éomer!" she exclaimed. "Is everything alright?" He filled the doorway tiredly, and worry filled the space between them. For once his gaze held no heat as he looked upon her as he ran a broad palm through his golden locks. The tension in his face seemed to fade after a moment, and he smiled at her softly. "I wanted to see your face." Warmed by the romantic words, but rather tired of being ping-ponged around by him, Gwen didn't respond, instead looking at him solemnly. "Please, come in," she said at last, tired of being out of bed. It was so odd that he had come to her in this manner, without the scorching sexual tension between them. She studied him as he strode in after only a moment's pause. "You look exhausted." He really did. Deep groves cut into his forehead and brows where his face was tight with weariness. The royal nodded, and sadness leeched into his gaze. _Something really is wrong; he's never like this._

"It has been a long day, Gwendolyn," he said at last. She crossed to her bed, sat, and patted the spot beside her, silently requesting that he join her. A moment later the bed creaked with his weight as he sat heavily onto the mattress. The vibrant life within him seemed to have fled with the night – gone completely was the man that teased her in the woods. Gwen touched his hand gently, and he twined their fingers together, making her heart stutter at the sweetness of his touch. "What's wrong?" Despite her hurt feelings, Gwen couldn't resist comforting him. Éomer sighed heavily before pulling her into his lap and clutching her in a warm embrace, seeking the comfort he knew she was willing to give him so freely.

"Hammalbrand has informed me that the new foals have died." Alarmed and shocked, Gwen pulled back in dawning horror. "But one was healthy!" She cried, alarmed and saddened at the news. "Hammalbrand said it himself!" The loss in his face mirrored her own, and Gwen knew this news could not have come at a worse time. Éomer tossed his head negatively, his shoulders slumped slightly with sadness. "Neither had a strong suckling reflex, and the mare did not bond with them easily – she even rejected the healthy one, eventually." Gwen gasped. _How terrible!_

Éomer's behavior spoke volumes about his care for his horses, and it was almost beyond her ability to understand. He grieved as if it was a sibling or relative. Gwen felt terrible for the warrior. "I fear the mare will perish during the move to Helm's Deep," he rumbled softly, distress clear in every word he spoke. "The road is not easy, and she is very weak." His leonine eyes met her cool green ones, and Gwen was suddenly aware of their extreme closeness. She drew a breath, then released it and him, moving off of his lap to put some distance between them. "I'm sorry, Éomer." She whispered the words, and ducked her head to break their shared gaze.

"I don't pretend to know the solution to the King's problems," she allowed, "but his hasty decision affects us all." Gwen thought of many old women and children who would struggle to travel on the open plains. Her mind then turned to Aragorn and Legolas, and the heated debate that had raged between them just hours ago. The elf had wanted to move on from Rohan, find Frodo, and continue the quest. Gwen agreed with him, and the Ranger had been forced to pull rank on them to shut down their words of dissent. Even in memory the choice angered her. _What is it about royals and getting what they want? Sheesh._

Gandalf had thrown in his support at the end, saying, "You all will be needed here, before this is all over." His blue eyes had bored into hers, and Gwen was forced to acquiesce to his leadership, though she heartily disagreed. His words silenced all arguments from Legolas as well, but Gwen felt that they were abandoning Frodo when they had promised only to protect him. _And it's not that I WANT to leave, per se. I just don't want to give up on Frodo, as if he is as lost to us as Boromir._ Gwen sat together with Éomer, both of them lost in thought. Though she was not happy with him, he clearly needed the company. She yawned and snuggled into his warmth unthinkingly, growing stiff when she realized what she was doing.

Hastily, Gwen blushed and moved further away, surprised when he did not try and keep her close. Instead, Éomer rose from the bed with a rueful, tired smile. "It is growing late, and I can see your weariness." Gwen wanted to protest, for she found herself greatly enjoying his warmth. _Now the bed will seem cold in comparison_. She complained only in her thoughts, and nodded with another yawn. Gwen was tired, and tomorrow would be a long day, if today's tension and work was to be repeated over again. Éomer opened the door to her chamber and Gwen expected him to exit, but he turned suddenly. "I shouldn't have come in here like this," Éomer said. His eyes were apologetic and rueful, making Gwen want to curse at his standoffish nature. "The servants will talk." A twinkle of his usual fire glimmered in his yellow-green eyes, and she realized he was _playing_ with her.

Gwen gaped at him stupidly for a moment before his meaning sunk in, and she scoffed playfully. "Pfft, I could care less about that kind of thing, honestly. Don't worry about it." The corners of Éomer's mouth twitched even as his eyes heated seriously, and he turned away smoothly. "Thank you for allowing me to enjoy your most pleasant company. Good night, Gwendolyn," he murmured, exiting her chamber with a final click of the door hinges. Gwen watched him go with a slight, confused smile. _I guess it doesn't hurt to at least be friendly._ Not for the first time, she wondered just what was happening between the two of them. The signals were so difficult to read, and she was brand new at it.

For a while after she crawled under the sheets, Gwen had difficulty falling into sleep. Her mind raced with heavy thoughts. She grew more concerned for Frodo every day, and more wary of the events unfolding around her with every passing moment. It seemed that the tension would kill them long before Sauron or Saruman could. Thinking of the hideously huge uruk-hai that had taken Merry and Pippin and killed Boromir, Gwen shuddered, hoping fervently that the way to Helm's Deep was safe and that they would not meet any of those terrible creatures as they traveled.

After a long hour had passed in frustration, Gwen threw back the covers and vaulted from the bed, seeking the main hall. Perhaps a walk would do her mind good. A few minutes later, she found herself reclining opposite a softly-snoring Éowyn in front of the fire. Feeling more settled now than before, Gwen allowed herself to fall into sleep.

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 _Please review!_


	47. Out of Edoras

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _I know I don't answer a lot of reviews at all - it's something I'd like to get back into doing, but please know that I do read and enjoy each one! Any ideas or concrit or words of praise I thrive off of and appreciate. Keep them coming. Older readers will notice lots of changes in the next chapters. Let me know what you think!_

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 **The Light Within:**

 **Chapter Forty-Seven: Out of Edoras**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _March 8th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

"You're a crazy dwarf, Gimli _"_ Gwen choked out, caught between laughter and pain. " _Stop!_ " She thrashed under the dwarf's weight, nearly shrieking, but was unable to toss the heavy, armor-clad male from her. His greater mass forced most of the air from her lungs, but Gimli clearly wasn't interested in voluntarily moving. She was caught, for sure. In her periphery, Gwen saw his hand raise and tensed a second before it landed with a _thwack_ on her ass, sending fire spreading across her thighs and bottom.

After a few dozen blows, it wasn't so funny anymore. "I'm gonna kick your ass when I-" she growled, only to be cut off by another smack, and Gwen wailed, "Gimli!" Outside of her line of vision, she could hear Aragorn snort in amusement, and knew that Legolas also must be close by. Gwen's face was hot and red with exertion, and her energy was spent. _It's no use. He weighs a ton. Oofph._ Had it not been happening to her, Gwen would have found this punishment entirely hilarious. As it was, she felt little more than embarrassment now. The people of Edoras were busy in various tasks, preparing to flee the city for the fortified defenses of Helm's Deep in the mountains, and hundreds of men and women had to be witnessing Gimli's assault on her.

Legolas' amused face appeared a short ways away. "Well, _elen_ , to be fair, Gimli _did_ promise retribution for your taunting of him when you were well." How the elf managed to keep a straight face, she didn't know. Gwen's backside flamed when Gimli whacked her again, and she absorbed each painful blow with a grunt, her face flaming red with humiliation when she saw the Eorlingas men and women watching with increased interest from afar. _I guess this is why you don't mess with the dwarf._ "It was just a joke, Gimli!" she groaned, trying to get him to show mercy on her. "And I was - " _whack_. "Just playing!" He ignored her and shifted to smack her again. She really couldn't take anymore. _"Gimli!_ Stop it!" She thrashed, trying to dislodge him, but it was no use. Gwen blew her sweaty bangs from her eyes, frustrated, in pain, and – and despite her increasing humiliation – amused.

Even as she whined for clemency, suddenly, Gimli was thrown from her. "What is going on here?" The thin whip of sound snapped over the three of them, low and dangerous. Gwen was horrified to hear Éomer join them, sounding wholly unamused. Now free of Gimli's crushing weight, she rolled over to discover the King's heir looming over her, glaring dangerously at her friends. Gwen's heart sank, knowing how even now, as allies, animosity lingered between Gimli and Éomer; as such, Éomer needed little reason to bait her shorter friend.

To Gwen's increasing dismay, Éowyn stood at her brother's side, even her face alight with confusion and worry. _Well shit._ Éomer's gaze was fierce as he stared them all down, looking every inch the stern royal heir, and with blood boiling furiously in his eyes, he bent to help her to her feet, all but roasting Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli where they stood. Gimli lay sputtering angrily to the side, having obviously been forcefully removed from Gwen's body on the ground. Hastily, Gwen sought Éomer's attention. "Gimli was just... ah, playing with me," she stuttered. "We were just playing." Her flaming backside spoke a different story, and Gwen could see clearly that Éomer wasn't buying her explanation. The brawny horseman shifted his gaze to her momentarily, assessing her, before returning to her shorter friend disdainfully.

"You would hide behind a woman's skirts, dwarf?" Éomer spat, disgusted. Surprisingly, the taller man's voice was deadly soft rather than snarling, and the deadly tone sent shivers down her spine. Gone was the sweetly emotional man from the night prior, and in his place was the hard-eyed, ruthless soldier Gwen knew Éomer to be. Her ass ached from Gimli's exacted revenge, it was true, but her pride was more wounded, and her face burned hotter as Gwen saw the amount of attention they were generating. It wasn't everyday the royal family of Rohan was seen in the streets in such a manner. Even the King had stopped curiously behind his niece and nephew. Gwen silently groaned, wishing the ground would open up beneath her. _They're_ _making more of a scene every moment!_

Gimli growled at Éomer's insult, and Gwen saw the answering fight come into his eyes all too quickly. She held up her hands, her face bemused and, likewise, she saw all the laughter gone from her friends' faces. Instead, they watched Éomer cautiously, warily. Incredulously, Gwen scanned the four of them, realizing for the first time that they were still wary and unable to trust one another on a deeper level. It saddened her. _What times we live in._ She huffed, frustrated, rubbing her forehead and trying to avoid the headache settling between her brows. In irritation, Gwen grabbed Éomer's attention with a wave of her hand. "Really, Éomer, there's no need to be like that," she sighed. "We were just playing. That's it."

Éomer continued glaring, and Gwen knew he wasn't hearing her. With another sigh, Gwen pulled at his sinewy arm, willing him to speak with her more privately. "I'll just catch up with you guys after we leave, okay?" she said, pulling Éomer along, and leaving Éowyn with her friends. Gwen tried to ignore the amused glances she was generating among the people of Edoras as she walked behind a stiff, still angry Éomer, away from her friends. Her gait was a little choppy, as her muscles protested the movements. When she came to a stop and turned, meeting his steely, anger-laced eyes. "You don't have to be like that with them," she explained. "They are just my friends, and would never abuse me." The horse lord's face grew tight and his arms crossed over his chest, a sure sign that she had said the wrong thing. Her heart sank. _Well, crap. He is angry with me._ It didn't make any sense to her. _Why is he being so unreasonable?_

"Forgive me, then, my lady," he growled, "For interrupting your _play."_ The sound of his sneering aggression bent toward her made Gwen flinch. "I did not realize you would welcome such hostile attention. I assumed you were more well-bred than that." Shock and hurt bloomed at his well-aimed barb, stealing the wind from her sails. She didn't follow him when he turned and strode through the crowd without a backward glance. _I can't believe he just said that._ _It genuinely hurt her feelings that Éomer thought so lowly of her over such a small thing. What was it about this world that made breeding and station so important? Gwen would never understand it._ The inhabitants of Edoras began to move out from the city at the King's command a moment later, and still she didn't not move. You _shouldn't let him get to you, Gwen. Just go find Aragorn and be done with the man. What does it matter what he thinks of you?_

For long moments, the people of Edoras moved around her, like the shifting of water around a stone. A massive black warhorse stopped at her shoulder, puffing a breath into her face in greeting before toeing the ground with a snort. The sudden unexpected appearance caused Gwen to blink, pulling her from her feelings. For a moment, the bright sun blinded her to the horse's rider, but after a few moments, she could see that it was Grimbold. His long dark hair curtained his back wetly as he controlled the impatient beast beneath him. He looked newly scrubbed and clean.

The smile he sent her made Gwen feel mildly better, and she answered it weakly. "Good morning, beauty," he greeted warmly. "Would you care to ride?" Grimbold motioned to the space between him and the horse invitingly. Hesitantly, Gwen looked for Aragorn and Éowyn, but couldn't find them in the crowds. It was likely they had already found mounts themselves. The King had ordered all weapon-bearing men to be mounted, where possible, and she and her friends had been heading toward the stables when Gimli tackled her to the ground to begin with.

Nodding up at the handsome warrior, Gwen hastily tied Burningstar to lay flat against the horse's flanks before accepting Grimbold's aiding hand in mounting. She settled comfortably against his muscular form, enjoying the feel of his arms as they looped loosely around her to gather the reins. Expertly, Grimbold guided them to the outer edges of the caravan line, where they picked up a good pace along the column of moving people.

Being around Grimbold wasn't nearly as distracting for her as it was to be around Éomer, but she found his gentle kindnesses and overt interest to be in direct contrast to the surly horse-lord who had stolen her focus lately. Why shouldn't I enjoy his company? Gwen allowed herself to sway within Grimbold's embrace, moving as he and the horse moved, marveling at how in sync they felt. He, too, seemed to enjoy this, because his arms tightened momentarily around her body before loosening.

Gwen rode in silence for a while, content to watch the landscape and the people as they traveled. The caravan was moving faster than she had expected, but not so fast that the people were thinly spread. She knew from an early conversation with Éowyn that the journey to Helm's Deep would take several days, and that the King was concerned about the safety of the people under such open conditions. She could see where soldiers had been placed evenly along the lines. A decent way ahead of them, Gwen spotted Éomer, Éowyn, and Aragorn and sighed. "What has you so melancholy on this fine day?," Grimbold asked, his body curling around hers as he leaned to whisper into her ear.

Gwen winced, knowing whatever sadness she felt was due to Éomer. Still, she didn't really wish to speak to the warrior about him. It just didn't seem appropriate. She couldn't ignore the question, however. "I'm merely lost in thought," Gwen replied, patting one firm arm where it lay in front of her. Grimbold chuckled, the motion of his broad chest against her back rumbling through her as well. "And how is your backside?" he asked her with a dark blend of humor and concern in his voice. Gwen snorted. "You saw that, did you?" she asked, wanting to cringe, but still thinking on Grimbold's question. Surprisingly, the horse's firm motions beneath them had massaged her flanks better than any human could, and the flaming sting of Gimli's retribution had dulled considerably since leaving Edoras.

"I'm fine," she answered pertly, a hint of red blushing her cheeks in remembering the punishment. It had served it's purpose, however; Gwen now knew never to taunt to the grouchy dwarf so seriously again. "Merely a throb, now," she added after a few silent moments, "Though my ego is considerably more bruised." Wind whipped across the craggy plain at their backs, sending long locks of Grimbold's hair into her face, together with her own. In unconscious response, he gripped her closely as the cold serrated them.

Grimbold chuckled at her, the sound of his humor going directly over her from his greater height. "Yes, I suppose many an Éorlingas saw that little punishment," he teased. "And what did you do to earn such treatment from your friends, beauty?" His voice was warm with humor and enjoyment, but Gwen heard a thread of steel underneath, too. Gwen shook her head, wanting to groan. "It's nothing like that, Grimbold-," she started, only to be interrupted by the warrior. "Call me Grim," he said. "All my friends do." Gwen smiled and patted his hand. "Grim," she said. "I merely taunted Gimli one too many times, I suppose." She smiled again despite remembering Éomer's harsh reaction to the scene they had presented. "He was always promising to tan my backside. He just decided to follow through this time." Despite herself, Gwen chucked. "It was all a jest, really," she added. "Though not everyone seemed to think so."

Grim laughed, but the sound was more of a scoff. He seemed to know she was referring to Éomer.

"Yes, well, our resident Marshal and heir is quite the starched shirt these days," Grimbold commented with deliberate lightness. "I can remember a time when he was as carefree and playful as you and your friends," he said after a moment. "The darkness has grown in him, as it has our lands and many other good men." His voice grew dark with heavy thoughts. "Such are the times we live in, beauty," he finished, voice rumbling. Were it not for the warmth of Grim at her back, Gwen might have shivered.

"Have you known Éomer a long time, then?," she asked curiously. Gwen knew he was a rider within Éomer's éored, but beyond that, she knew little about the big, quiet warrior. He made an amused sound within his throat, a barking sound of laughter. _"Och,_ yes, little one," he crooned in that same whiskey-smooth tone that had given her shivers the night of the foals' birth. "I have known Éomer since we were lads, and he'd arrived in Edoras after the passing of his parents," Grim explained. "He was quite the angry lad, but I wasna' much better. My parents had sent me to squire under Háma, the King's door-gaurd." Grimbold chuckled at his memories. "I was an angry boy myself. Like his own parents, I was made orphan not long after that. Éomer and I were fast friends, given our circumstances."

Gwen was fascinated by Grim's stories, and he obliged her questions good-naturedly. She learned that Éomer and Grimbold had been trained as warriors together, but where Grim had eventually become apprentice to the King's blacksmith, Éomer had learned to be a royal. "Éomer takes his duty seriously," Grimbold commented. "Sometimes too seriously. It comes with a high cost, but he has always paid it, to his own detriment." Grim shook his head, sending tendrils of hair cascading over her. "He sees his duties as necessary not only for Rohan, but for his uncle and sister as well. It is difficult, I am sure, to be so beholden to so many," he added with a touch of emotion. "He is my Lord, yes, it is true, but there was a time when I claimed him as a good friend. It is no longer so easy," Grim sighed. "One day, he will be my King. Such relationships are no longer quite so appropriate, my being untitled, and all." Gwen didn't understand how things worked in Rohan, but Grim had shed some light on how Éomer viewed the world. Having listened to him talk, Gwen felt like she understood them both a little better.

Again, silence descended between she and Grim, more uncomfortable than the last. After long heartbeats between them, Grim suggested they catch up with Aragorn. "I wish to know more of your friends, beauty," he told her with his usual flirtatious demeanor. After a few moments at a canter, the pair of them fell into step with Aragorn, and Legolas and Gimli. As they rode together and Grim began talking jovially with her friends, Gwen mulled over all that Grimbold had told her and placed it together with all that she had seen and said with Éomer. More than anything, Gwen found she felt sorry for him. Éomer was a singularly burdened man in these times; not only did he have to fight a war against orcs and foul creatures, but now he had to carry the weight of his royal house as well. It can't be easy. A short distance ahead, he rode, his bearing proud and erect. _Regal._ Grim's words echoed in her head. _This man will one day be King._ The sight of him sent a rush of heat through her, and the intensity of the sensation shocked her. No matter how she tried, she couldn't make herself feel the same way about Grim, who was entirely available to her, and who made her feel comfortable and safe.

It was certainly easier to be with Grim. So why did she have to want Éomer so badly? The answer was unfathomable and as hard to hold onto as smoke in her hands. A niggle of memory pinched at her, and it had her mother's voice. Sometimes we don't have any choices to make, darling. Life makes them for us. Gwen sighed, and settled more firmly into Grim's comforting embrace, wishing like hell it made her burn.

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 _Please review._


	48. A Sacrifice, Part 1

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

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 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Eight: A Sacrifice, Part 1**

 **By: Sherrywine**

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Éomer woke from sleep suddenly for the thousandth time that night, his keen, battle-honed senses flaring out, alert to any potential danger around him. Save for the quiet nickers of the horses around the huddled, carefully placed pallets, the night was calm and quiet. It was peaceful and still, belying the violent day's events altogether. The long caravan of men, women, and children had been attacked by warg outriders in a calculated stroke by Saruman to break his people's will, and increase their suffering. It had certainly been an unexpected blow; a cruel one, indeed. Not for the first time, he wished to find himself alone with the duplicitous conjurer who had once claimed to care for Rohan. Now alert and awake, the King's heir replayed the terrible attack of that day in his mind, mournful of every good man who had been lost to the beasts of Saruman.

Another low, keening cry of deepest grief found his sharp hearing mere feet away, and its' owner rolled over onto his pallet, seeking comfort automatically from anyone at all that could be found, blindly. Feet from them both, another warrior lay awake, his body rigid and unyielding to sleep. _Grim_. His old friend, too, had heard her cry. The girl's body brushed his, nearly climbing into his lap in her fit of sleep. Instantly, his body reacted to her touch, even as he felt the hot wetness of her tears on his skin.

Ashamed of his reaction, and knowing Grim was watching, Éomer at first resisted the urge to touch her. At the other man's grunt and first move, he pulled Gwen into him, trying desperately not to react to her body on his. She needed comfort now. Close by, the elf Legolas sat vigilantly over her and the other warriors, his bow at the ready in his lap. He was clearly on edge, and the unholy light in his eyes made even Éomer shudder inside. He had not moved from his place at all in the hours that had passed, and his gaze never wavered. The dwarf, Gimli, lay asleep at Legolas' side.

Éomer drew the woman fully into his arms with a sigh, knowing it would be a while yet before she moved again. Gwen's wet cheeks burrowed into his chest, distracting him from his thoughts. His arousal sat full and heavy between his thighs as she fell back into sleep fitfully, laying on him, and Éomer found himself cursing his body yet again. _Now is not the time for lust_ , he told himself, and felt even more terrible for his thoughts when the woman came awake again with a hoarse, choking, wracking sob.

"Aragorn!" She cried out piteously, her voice piercing the quiet of the night. At his friend's obvious distress, Legolas began to stand and intervene, but Éomer stopped his progress through the maze of pallets with a hand. Grim, too, had started to move, and the big Éorlingas blacksmith coming so close in an effort to comfort Gwen made him want to snap at the man. _He was the one she had sought._ With a small measure of satisfaction, Éomer curled her into him, making soothing sounds and rubbing her back in comfort. It touched a possessive, wholly male part of himself that this woman sought out _his_ comfort in the aftermath of her loss.

She had lain so still between Grim and Legolas at the fire as they had made the final camp, tears coursing her cheeks. Wordlessly, unable to stand how she clung to his old friend, Éomer had ordered Grimbold away and had taken her into his arms. It had been an abuse of his power, he knew, but it had been hard to care at the time, and eventually they had slept. Fitfully. They had done this dance of wakefulness and sleep many times that night, and he was ashamed that he felt even a small bit of enjoyment as a result of her closeness. _She hurts, and I lust._ He felt like the worst sort of animal. Every protective instinct within him roared that he ease her pain, but he knew the true hopelessness of such an endeavor. So he only held her tighter, murmuring soothing words to her gently.

His cock throbbed in his breeches as her skin whispered over his own, until at last she settled back into fitful dreams once more. Sighing once more, he met the elf's eyes across her shaking, incoherent form, and for a moment a wave of grief that passed over him – through him – and consumed him totally. Aragorn had been only a passing acquaintance to him, but to these outsiders – to Gwen – he had been family. There had been many soldiers who had died today and left their families to grieve as Gwen did. Éomer's deep curse split the night as Gwen's harsh, wracking sobs reminded him of the hell they were all enduring in this war.

* * *

 _Earlier that day_

For the thousandth time that morning, Gwen caught herself looking at Éomer despite her determination to give her attention to Grim. It wasn't fair, really, that Éomer seemed to dominate her awareness, even as she rode with an admittedly good-looking man. To distract herself for the thousandth time, Gwen studied the far horizon, noticing how the orange-yellow sky seemed to bleed red where it met the mountains.

Unexpectedly, Grim broke their silence. "Tell me more of the land you hail from," he requested gently as he held her close to him. It was pleasant, being snuggled like that. "It is far from here, yes?" She nodded, and thought of the collective whole of her experiences in the United States. She chose her words carefully, unsure as to what Grim would understand. "My birth land is very different from this one. In customs, traditions, and culture," she began. Her voice was wistful, and for the thousandth time, Gwen felt a twinge of homesickness. "All of it is so different. That's all there is to really say – anything more would probably not make sense to you." Still, he prodded her for more. They rode along as she spoke, telling him of the oddities and eccentricities of her world.

"They are the one thing I truly miss about my land," Gwen said. "More than all our foods, and holidays, I miss my mother's smile, and my father's arms." To her horror, Gwen found herself choking up as she spoke, and quickly changed subjects. "There was safety to be had there, too. It is not so dangerous as this land." She waved a hand around the rocky hills. "No orcs. No Sauron." She laughed then, and to Grim, Gwen sounded saddened. "I had never even wielded a bow or blade before I came here." She chuckled slightly as she remembered Boromir's first efforts to teach her to hold a sword. Grim placed a broad hand on her hip as they navigated a rocky ledge, and didn't remove it. It was a more intimate touch, but still pleasant. Gwen wanted to lean into his hand but feared falling.

"And you can not go home?" His voice vibrated in his chest and echoed into her body, and there was a sharp edge to the question. Gwen knew without looking his features would be stony, and shook her head sadly. Grim, too, knew what it was like to have nothing. "No. I've been banished, I suppose. But it's not all bad here," Gwen added. "There is a certain...freedom to be found here that doesn't exist in my own land."

Gwen shivered slightly when he moved his hand over her stomach. Grim pulled her closer, waiting patiently for her to finish her thought. "What I mean is," she said, "The expectations are different here. Some good, some bad. For example, in my land, women are nearly equals to men. We fight. We provide for our families, we are educated. Here...just traveling with Aragorn and the others was seen badly. I almost didn't get to come. It is hard to get used to, these different expectations."

They fell silent for long moments, and after a while, it seemed they were communicating with their bodies alone. Grim's body was saying, "Here, have this." As much as Gwen's own growing need responded to that, she shook her head in denial. It would be wrong to do such a thing, with so little feeling involved. She liked Grim, really. But she felt nothing for him beyond friendship. "We can't do this," she murmured, out loud, despite her flaming embarrassment at having spoken of such a topic out groaned and bent to whisper to her.

"I am unattached. You are –" He said, breaking off suddenly, and when Grim spoke again his voice had an interesting note of deepness in it. "You _are_ unattached, aren't you?" He seemed to hesitate at even asking. Gwen whipped her head around. "What kind of girl do you take me for, Grim?" she asked defensively. "Of _course_ I'm single. I'd never have this conversation otherwise." She stiffened before remembering who she was with, and relaxing again. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation, actually."

Grim chuckled then, and the sound was full of masculine promise. "Do you think I mean only to bed you, sweet beauty?" he crooned, making Gwen shiver. _God, but his voice is rather magical_. But deep down she knew it was just a neediness for another that made her so aware. "I would rather keep you." At his words, Gwen _did_ stiffen against him. She turned her head to meet his darkened eyes, and the hopeful look in them nearly broke her heart.

Before she could reply, a cry rippled forward from the front of the caravan, and Grim was instantly alert behind her, all business and hard edges now. A cry was going up along the guard-lines, in Rohirric. "Warg riders," Grim hissed, their last intimate moments forgotten in the face of danger. Gwen grew alarmed. _What the fuck was a warg?_ Did she even want to know? Behind her, Grim's hands clasped her waist, and he started to pull her from the saddle. Gwen resisted. "If there's going to be a battle, Grim," she began, "You're not leaving me behind." She whipped her head up to meet his gaze, and so that he could see she meant business, too. It went against every instinct he possessed, but with a growl he released her and pulled his horse from the ranks of the caravan with a hoarse shout. Together with a dozen or so other riders, Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli, and Éomer included, they pursued the warg rider she had yet to see.

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 _Please review._


	49. A Sacrifice, Part II

**Disclaimer** : See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Wow, my mind was definitely in a fog this past week. I had forgotten that I'd edited these chapters and could post them! Thank you to all my readers for your continued support!  
_

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 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Forty-Nine: A Sacrifice, Part 2**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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The horse's hooves pounded the ground under her at a breathtaking pace, and Gwen was at once fully aware of the power of these war horses. Their strength was as brawny as their riders, and their strides ate up the ground beneath them faster than she had ever traveled in Middle Earth. Had it not been for Grim's presence behind her, she would have been terrified at the dull colors whipping past her at such a speed. As it was, Gwen was able to concentrate on notching her bow, readying herself to meet whatever enemy they would face. Warg riders, he had declared. Grim certainly seemed eager to go to battle, but even as she thought this, Gwen realized without _them_ to drive the enemy away, the people of Edoras would be as vulnerable and defenseless as sitting ducks.

The ground beneath them was uneven and littered with jagged rocks, and ahead, the foothills of the mountains in the distance were plainly visible. They were not far from the jagged cliff's edge, even. Gwen hadn't seen a sign of their enemy ahead of them yet, and she was beginning to think this endeavor was, thankfully, for nothing. As they crested the hill and came to a halt, however, she found herself duly corrected. Grim let out an angry hiss at the sight of the hideous beast that waited for them, crouched and barely moving. Strangely, there was only one orc-mounted giant wolf to be found.

"A scout," the hard-edged warrior behind her breathed, the warning audible. Gwen took in the monstrous, completely foreign sight of the warg ahead as the Rohirric warriors moved forward to attack the single vile enemy, ready and able to ensure the caravan's safety. The snarling mass of hulking beast slavering all over the ground at its feet triggered a memory. Once, on Earth, she had seen a gruesome picture of a mangled pitbull after an arena fight; the poor creature's face had been chewed and bloody, grotesque and raw like ground hamburger, and had clearly been ready and willing to attack anyone close by.

Like this huge animal.

With a snarl, Grim moved expertly to join the other men down towards the cliff's edge; as they approached the cornered, snarling beast, Gwen gripped her notched bow carefully, ready to fire at a moment's notice. As they moved closer to the beast, Gwen could see how abused the warg was. She was willing to bet under the right circumstances it would turn even on its rider. Pity welled as the obvious signs of cruelty the creature had endured at Saruman's hands were revealed. It was clear, too, that its rider was struggling to contain the beast's urge to fight, to lunge at them, and to kill. Strangely, he seemed unconcerned with his grossly outnumbered battle odds even as they closed in around the single orc scout. This struck her as unusual and suspicious.

The only time Gwen had seen orcs truly confident in battle was when a large group of them were together, and when their odds of winning were excellent. _Strength in numbers._ Yet, this orc was clearly unafraid of them. But why? The answer dawned on her a moment later, as a great, collective snarl rose up from behind them. Grim whirled the horse around to answer this new threat, and Gwen saw the scout now had backup in large numbers lining the high ridge of the mountain foothills, which he was gleefully cackling over. The sound grated on her nerves. To shut him up, and so that they had no enemy at their backs', Gwen shot the rider with a hoarse shout, satisfied on a primal level when the rider fell from the beast's back with a lurch. _Ah, blessed silence._

The wave of warg riders on the ridge attacked them almost instantly charging down the cliff with speed and a deadly strength that sent a zing of fear into her even as adrenaline rushed through her and prepared her for combat. The now-riderless warg lunged at Gwen, forcing Grimbold and the horse to take the blow meant for her. The massive black steed went down under the heavy blow of the warg, but quickly recovered, rolling off Gwen and Grim and galloping from the fracas to avoid danger. Pain electrified her senses, as Gwen had been pinned from hip to foot by the heavy horseflesh for a terrifying moment. She lay stunned on the ground, panting. All out battle exploded around them as riders met beasts in a tangle of weapons and claws. By the looks of things it would be a bloody skirmish.

Éomer, too, appeared riderless, leaping up from the ground to join in the growing melee as smoothly as Grim, who was unhurt from the fall they had taken together. He unsheathed his sword, which gleamed as he met the now riderless warg head on, giving Gwen the precious seconds she needed to recover. She tried to launch herself from the ground three times, each attempt sending bolts of painful energy down her spine and into her leg. It was clear she was hurt somewhere, but there was no blood on her. Éomer and Grim stood together between her and the foul creature that had brought them both down, their focus solely on the battle.

Though Grim's arm span was massive, longer than that of most other men, the warg's glistening, unclean fangs were a major threat. When the beast lunged for the warrior, Gwen went girly and screamed, drawing the warrior's attention to her at a critical time. The precious seconds the distraction cost him, and Grim went crashing down onto the ground under the warg, his sword arm out and pinned by the beast. _God but that was the stupidest thing you could have done, Gwen._ Sometimes she wondered about herself and if she had any sense at all. It was one thing to put herself in danger, but now her stupidity cost her friend, who would have probably been fine without her around. Easily four hundred pounds of rank flesh lay on him now, and for a moment time seemed suspended. With a hoarse cry of fear, Gwen rolled to her feet clumsily, sickly aware that any harm he came to in that moment was her fault. She wobbled to her feet, unable to place much weight on her left side.

Under the warg, Grim thrashed ineffectively, and Gwen surmised the beast was toying with him. Otherwise, he would be dead already, she was sure. Both man and beast had forgotten her entirely as they faced one another so closely. The sounds of battle raged around them; the cries of men raised above the inhuman growls and grunts of the evil minions they fought, but Gwen tuned it all out, focused entirely on Grim and the beast. Notching her bow shakily, she aimed carefully, wanting to get a kill shot in before the beast could react. The arrow cut through the air with a thwack and landed in the beast's skull with a sickening crunch of bone, where it fell with only a lurch before stilling. "Grimbold!" She rushed to the enormous beast, and was horrified to discover the thing was taller than she was by a good foot and a half, and ugly as sin. The warrior was wheezing under the great weight of the vile hybrid, and only with her help could he push the thing off him and rise from the ground.

He glared at her, his wild black hair tangled around his face, rough shadow around his jaw and feral gaze making him look like a wild man. The blood on his neck didn't help the image at all. "Next time," he grunted, "don't scream." Gwen flushed, shamed-faced. The sounds of battle intruded on them, and an orcish arrow whizzed by her ear, calling them both back to the task at hand. With a curse, Grim took off, and together they joined the other pockets of battle. The warg riders had not expected so much resistance from the party of men, and were slowly being beaten down in the fray. The sheer strength and power of their beasts was a hard thing to combat, however, even two or three men to one.

Funnily enough, Legolas and Gimli were having a field day, by the looks of it. Figuring distance was best for now, Gwen let loose volley after volley with her bow at the enormous beasts, hoping to disable the most dangerous threat to them all. The arrows hit the beasts like flies, and unless the blow was lethal, the beasts treated them as such – with annoyance. Gwen felt as if she were playing a pin-the-target game. _I'm having about that much affect._ Her aim was off, too. Gwen never was too good at long-distance shooting. Cursing, Gwen dropped the bow and drew out Burningstar, leaving distance fighting to Legolas and the other, more advanced archers. With a hoarse cry, she threw herself into the battle, whirling into a dismounted orc as she joined the thickening battle around the King, Éomer, Grim, and Aragorn, who were hacking and slashing at the beasts. Black blood coated the blade Gwen wielded instantaneously as she pulled it from the torso of her enemy, and Gwen found she rather enjoyed the sight. Headily, she hacked and jabbed at the beasts who snapped into her range, growing more unaware of the danger she faced as she went. _This. is. Awesome._ _Gwen didn't realize she_ was feeling battle-lust for the first time.

The blood ran in rivulets from her blade, coating her hand and causing her grip to slip on the hilt. Her exposed side took a minor glancing blow from the King's orc-shattering blade, but she barely felt it. Gwen felt _alive,_ headily so, and the sensation made all her other experiences to that point feel numb and cold. Vaguely the rational portion of her mind recognized she was tracing the fine line all warriors walk – the line between necessary killing and enjoyment of it. The warning bells of caution went unheeded. Gleefully, she fought ferociously against the vile, subhuman creatures, and Gwen forgot for a moment, then two, then three, who she was and what was important to that person. She lost herself in the violence, the blood, and the death that surrounded her.

And in that moment, Gwen understood what it meant to revel in the kill. A whooping laugh filled her lungs and was expelled, only to be cut short by the flashing, teeth of a warg descending towards her. Its jaws closed around her shoulder, rending a shocked scream from her lips as sharp teeth pierced her flesh like a knife does sweet cream butter. The pain tore her from her battle-high almost instantly, and all she knew was the scorching, white-hot pain of those foul jaws clamped around her with so much crushing pressure. It could easily shatter her beating heart with his jaws. Gwen found herself lifted and shaken like a doll, and for a moment she failed to breath. Couldn't breath. Her lungs refused to expand.

Bright, red blood ran copiously down her arm, and her heart stuttered scarily. The pooling blood reminded her of the black orc blood on her own blade as it dripped steadily down her body. Reflexively, she released her sword, her hands twitching as all her nerves fired simultaneously over and over. Around her the battle was drawing to a close, the Eorlingas warriors, together with her beloved friends, were ending the lives of their enemies. But this one – this rider and his beast – they had claimed her in their clutches and would end her life. Unable to draw breath deeply, unable to fight the instinctive need to lay limp to try and avoid further pain, Gwen waited for the final killing blow. Instead, she heard the rider laugh and speak, taunting the brave, fierce warriors who had fought with her. Blackness filled her vision, a gray haze that shrouded the sunny day in shadow.

Her limbs flushed hotly. She had felt this way before. The flush of death. Pain was all she understood, though, in those moments. Voices spoke, but she didn't hear them clearly, and then the beast was dragging her back, towards the cliff face, and the cackling voice of the rider split the otherwise silent air. _I am going to die._ Barely conscious, Gwen knew the moment the rider above her died instead. The beast's jaws locked tightly around her shoulder, and hot breath poured over her chest even as an even hotter pain had her screaming. The body of the rider fell to her feet, and the beast went wild, thrashing her around and scratching her against the sharp rocks beneath them.

A battle cry tore into the silence and was answered by the beast's growls, and suddenly she was free – the pain of that release was almost as hellish as the filthy fangs sinking into her shoulder. With a moan, Gwen collapsed on the cliff's edge, and she was quickly pulled away and into the circle of warriors. Snarls of the great hulking animal were cut short with a high yelp that lingered in her ears, and was cut off quickly. With some satisfaction, Gwen realized it had gone over the edge of the cliff.

 _Fucking bastard dog._

The battle ended for good, and even as Gwen surrendered to the blackness in her mind, a hazy elven cry following her into the depths. She wanted to comfort Legolas, and tell him she would be fine, but the effort required to re-emerge from the blackness was too much, and she let herself go.

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 _Please review._


	50. Haze of Grief

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

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 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Fifty: Haze of Grief**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _March 10th, At Night Camp_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

 _A day. A day had gone by already._

Gwen hissed lowly at Hammalbrand as the gentle warrior passed a bone needle through her flesh, sending sharp bolts of pain flying up her arm. The elder man glanced up from his careful work with apologetic eyes, knowing he was hurting her and hating to do so. She was damn lucky to even be sitting here, alive. The warg's teeth had missed everything vital in her shoulder, even the vein that passed through her arm and into her lungs. _A miracle._

Still, thoughts of Aragorn dominated her mind. _It had been a day. Too long._

"Not too many more now, my lady," he said lowly. The wound had needed stitches, over two dozen so far. The neat, even sutures Hammalbrand was using were closing up the deep punctures of her shoulder slowly - too slowly for her liking. _I've got to find Aragorn._ She was impatient – desperate – with the need to go out and search for him. Since the warg rider attack earlier that day, Gwen's mind had been consumed with two things: her damnable, painful, idiotic wounds, and Aragorn having gone over that cliff in her place. The ranger she considered a brother had given his life to save her own from the warg who had attacked her, or so Legolas had said. There was no proof Aragorn was gone, though, as he had tumbled off the cliff face and down into the river below. But, everyone agreed that it was nearly impossible to survive the plunge he had taken. All except for Gwen. Despite her friends' insistence otherwise, Gwen refused to believe he was gone.

She flinched as the animal sinew passed through her skin with a whisper of sound, and was grateful for Grim's steadying hands on her, even as she was angered at the males who closed in close around her. Everyone had refused to _do something_. Most of all, she was upset at Legolas and Gimli, who seemed more concerned with her than finding Aragorn. She, at least, wasn't _dead or dying_. Anger grew in her chest. "How can you just sit there, Legolas?" she spat. Her voice was a low, angry thread of sound, blurred only by the pain she was feeling. Her molten, furious gaze met the elf's mournful, heavy eyes. Grim gripped the woman between his legs in warning, feeling the tension in her body but not saying anything. She had asked the same question four times already. Gimli sat close, silent, not knowing what to say.

"There is no way anyone, mortal or otherwise, can survive a fall from those cliffs," Éomer growled, the only male in the group that was showing his growing frustration. At this point, he didn't care that he was risking her ire by interfering in their business. He would not be letting her go anywhere in her condition. It was bad enough that their small camp lay so exposed in this area after the attack; he wouldn't be risking anymore lives in searching for a dead man. _She has to understand that_. The main caravan from Edoras had already departed, leaving them more vulnerable than he liked.

Gwen stiffened in Grim's arms, causing Hammalbrand to reprimand her into relaxing. She was like a she-cat, all self-righteous anger at the lot of them, spitting mad and unafraid to let it be known. Legolas sighed at her childish, impetuous behavior. She couldn't see the big picture right now, of how in danger they all were. All she thought of was her own pain, and Aragorn. _By the Valar, had he ever been like this as a child?_ He adored the young woman across from him, but she was driving him to madness with her stubborn selfishness.

"I don't _care,"_ Gwen insisted. Her hands bit into Grim's forearms, her body reacting to the pain she was feeling even if she was ignoring it outwardly. "I won't leave him," she declared, not for the first time. "We've got to find him, Legolas." When he was unsympathetic, she turned eyes on her other companion. "Gimli. Please!" She cried, "We can't leave him out there!" Her voice turned to pleading, then, and Éomer and Grim could clearly see the elf's anguish and pain across his otherwise smooth features, and the dwarf released a shuddering exhale, too. Could she not see her friends were suffering, as well? She was driving a hammer into their bones with her pleading and angry words. Grim was tense and desperate to ease her, even knowing there was nothing he could truly do. Wetness dripped onto his hands as Gwen's tears fell, and he knew she must be feeling guilty and desperate. His heart went out to all of them. Hammalbrand tied off the sinew expertly, patting the small, distraught woman awkwardly.

"There, milady," he declared softly. "All done." He helped Gwen into a new shirt before taking the old one to be burned. Once she was dressed, Gwen immediately shifted to stand, forcing Grim to hold her to his larger frame. Silently, Éomer watched as she struggled against the large man, unavoidably jealous. He should have been the one to hold her. _On the other hand..._ It looked as if Gwen was giving his childhood friend a good struggle. She was determined to be stubborn and foolish about this, and in some ways it was admirable that Gwen would go to such extreme lengths for a friend, but on others it was foolhardy and dangerous. The bad outweighed the good in this situation, by his thinking. There was no way they could go looking for the Ranger. She had no choice but to obey.

"Let me go, Grimbold!" she exclaimed, thrashing around, trying to get away from the big blacksmith. "Someone's got to find Aragorn, damn it, and if _you_ won't go, I will," Gwen cried. The last bit was directed at Legolas, who took her words stoically, a pained look on his countenance. For long moments more, she struggled against Grim's hold, trying with all her meager strength to rise. Seeing her so close to hurting _herself_ made Éomer's own quick temper rise; it was a rational fear that she would harm herself further in her current frame of mind. He had had enough of coddling her.

"Stop this _now,_ Gwendolyn," he barked, commanding her as he would his soldiers. Grim shook her into submission gently, but she stilled instinctively, glazed eyes captured in the horse-lord's. Éomer's glinting, stern eyes never left hers as he crouched directly in front of her. "Hear me, woman," he ordered tersely. "There is _nothing_ we can do for Aragorn now. You are badly wounded, and still you persist in this foolish struggle." She wasn't listening, instead choosing a child's way and fighting Grim again. "Be _still_!" He thundered when she fought a moment longer. His voice was low and commanding, the sound whip-cord stern.

Gwen's response was instantaneous. She burst into tears. Instantly Legolas was at her side, trying to comfort her. Éomer scoffed at his foolishness, knowing she did not deserve it in those moments. She batted the elf's seeking hands away, upset to the point of sickness. "Get away from me!" Gwen shrieked. She _was_ sick then, and she retched into the grass, but her stomach was as empty as her heart in that moment. In her misery, Gwen missed the elf's visible hurt. "I don't understand why you left him to suffer, you coward!" Gwen bit off as she gasped, now being held up by Grim's hands alone.

Legolas' temper snapped, then, and he stood up from her side, his eyes sick with suffering and genuine hurt. Gwen took one look at his face and seemed to know what her words had done. Eyes wide and features filling with hot anger, Legolas said, "I left him for you, _elen,_ _"_ _he snapped, staring down at her harshly._ His hands motioned in front of him, at her. "You were bleeding and writhing in pain – how can you ask me why, knowing that?" He cried, upset. "Aragorn was gone, over the cliffs, and you needed me." Disgust lingered in his voice, at her selfish behavior. Legolas turned away, the sharp motion of his body belying his emotion, only to turn back. "Aragorn would have done the same, you know," he added. " _For_ **you**." He stared at her a long time, and when she did not answer, he turned away with a scoff. "Do not ask me why, you foolish child," he muttered. He left her then, and Gwen cried all the harder, feeling sick for Aragorn's loss, and for hurting Legolas.

Éomer watched her silently, unable to comfort her as he wanted to.

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Gimli never had been any good at problem resolution. He was far better at starting issues than fixing them, by his estimation. Ruefully, he wished he had listened to his father's advice more in matters such as these. His father would have handled this rift between friends - nay, family - better than Gimli ever could. The dwarf was at a loss – a complete and utter loss - as to what needed doing. How to fix the brokenness between them all. There were things that needed saying, hearts that needed mending. Gwen had reverted, it seemed, back to more childish days, and really, who could blame the wee girl? It seemed understandable that a spirit can reach a breaking point; perhaps this was hers. He had wondered how long it would take the girl to crack under the pressure of their intense journey. She was, in years, just a baby compared to the rest of them. Gimli sighed heavily, watching her from his place on his pallet, glancing over one shoulder at the lone elf standing a distance away.

His friends were hurting; dragon's balls, _he_ was hurting. Aragorn was more-than-likely dead, as much as he hated to admit it, and his heart hurt at the damnable thought. What was to happen to them now, he wondered? It seemed to him that the Gods were having a great laugh at their expense, for there was a good bit of irony in gaining Gandalf back from the dead only to lose Aragorn to the filthy beasts of Saruman within weeks of one another.

It made his stone-cold heart throb to watch the wee-girl he had come to love as his own flesh weep so brokenly and lash out so strongly at the friend he had never expected to have. He wanted to yell at her, knock some sense into her pretty little head, but Gimli knew deep down she didn't need it. Her own sense of right and wrong, usually so keen and yet dull at the moment, would show her the way eventually.

Things were changing too fast for all of them, and she, of course, would handle it with the most difficulty. She was a babe. The blacksmith's hands upon her made him want to break his face, ally or no, but Gimli suppressed that desire, knowing his girl needed the comfort the Eorlingas man seemed to provide her so easily. Valar damn it, he was at a loss. The pain in his heart confused his head, and the resulting physical pain shot from one temple to the next when he tried to work it out to completion.

Across the way, he could see the tall, lithe form of his elven friend watching the horizon, clearly moody. Gimli looked back at his girl and decided she was in _mildly_ decent hands, between Grim and Éomer. _I don't like that man – I don't like him one bit._ But he couldn't deny the man seemed to care for his girl, though, however roughly. He protected her, at least. Muttering in Dwarvish under his breath, Gimli stood with the aid of his battle axe, gruffly saying, "Take care of her, horse lords. I shall return."

The blacksmith nodded once, solemnly, as if he understood the position Gimli was in. The stout dwarf turned and strode towards the last person he ever expected to call friend, trying not to step on his loose beard as he went. He came to a stop at Legolas' side, but the elf didn't acknowledge him. That didn't bother him as much as it would have before they had been friends. For a while, the pair stood in the sun, watching the horizon together, and yet seeing nothing of import. Gimli was unable to read his friend clearly, but he knew his mind, if only partially. After a long while, he cleared his throat.

"You know she didn't mean her words to you," he offered, kindly. _Why am I the one playing peacemaker, again?_ "She grieves deeply and easily, ya know," Gimli murmured. "Makes her irrational." Legolas was silent for a moment. "And selfish," the elf scoffed, looking down at the dwarf after a moment. The vitrioil in his friend's words startled Gimli. Gwen had really wounded his tall friend. The wind was whipping Legolas' long blond hair around his face as they spoke, and he didn't seem to care.

"Och," he grumbled in his throat, the sound one of dissent. "That may be true, my friend," Gimli began, picking at the grass with his boot. "But her heart's in the right place. She doesna mean to be. You and I both know if it was just us here today we would be out there at the moment, army or no' behind us." He paused, thinking. "I don' think she knows the why of the choice we made." But that didn't change that the wee human had made an already bad situation worse. They _all_ were hurting.

Silence descended.

Gimli shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. He would have liked to know what the elf was thinking. Just as he would have opened his chops to speak again, Legolas surprised him by sighing openly. His elven friend had never seemed more weary and aged than in that moment. "She's right, though, you know," he admitted, softly. Gimli's eyebrows shot up with surprise. Legolas turned to face Gimli, and the dwarf could see the conflicted pain on his friend's features. "I took the easy path, not going after him like she wanted." As Gimli sputtered a protest, he continued, glancing back at where she lay, sleeping on the pallet. "Seeing her thus, it terrified me," Legolas continued. "But I feared more to go and find him broken on the rocks." Gimli's gaze met his own, then, and they were both recalling the dull eyes, the blood dripping in rivulets down Gwen's side, and Aragorn, horrified and flying over the edge. It had been horrendous, that moment. In all his days, he'd never forget.

"I forgot about him, as I looked upon her, so broken," Legolas sighed, sitting on the ground smoothly. Gimli followed suite before pulling out his pipe and stash of tobacco. "I cannot blame her for being with us; indeed, it would not be the same journey without her here even now." The elf's lips cracked upwards the tiniest bit. "But, had she not been there at all, perhaps I would have chosen differently." His eyes slipped down under heavy emotion. "I know that I would have," Legolas continued firmly. "Her being there doesn't always help us." Gimli knew he did not mean his words against Gwen personally; in fact, he knew how much the elf had grown to genuinely respect and admire the girl. She had become theirs somewhere along the way. Nonetheless, Gimli understood what he was getting at. Together they sat, watching the caravan's few remaing people mingling and aiding the wounded. Gimli kept a keen eye on Gwen, pleased to see her resting comfortably at last, tucked in between the two Éorlingas men.

"I do not think it is Gwen that 'doesn't help us,' my friend," he rumbled quietly at last. "Mayhap it is instead our feelings for her that do not help us." Gimli had and always would feel that their strength lay in their numbers, and Gwen was a valuable asset to their company just in sheer positivity alone. "Do not let it bother you so, Legolas," Gimli advised. "Our _elen_ forgets her value to us, yes?" Legolas nodded, the moment barely perceptible. With a small smile, the elf replied, "I don't think she's discovered it, yet."

They contemplated all they knew about her, the silence between them easy and comfortable at last.

"Aragorn would want her safe," Gimli said gruffly, his voice growing thick as he thought of the ranger. "I am sure we did the right thing, but she does not understand the choice we made," he said again. Legolas rubbed his chest absently, his eyes pained. "Don't you forget your reasons, either, or it will torment you too," the dwarf finished. Gimli nodded, satisfied with his advice, puffing on his pipe softly.

 _It would be a death blow to them all if they lost her now. She had to be kept safe._

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Gwen awoke from her fitful rest, shoulder blazing with pain. Night had descended deeply onto the plains, and Gwen could barely see past the rows of pallets. A short ways away, Legolas and Gimli rested quietly, though Gimli snored, as was usual. Gwen was surprised to see the elf actually asleep, as he rarely needed that kind of rest. A pang of guilt and terrible self-loathing flooded into her hazy brain as she remembered her words to her friend. _We are all hurting. Not just me._

Gwen sat up carefully, ignoring the screaming pain of her shoulder. She should apologize to her friends; her words could not be taken back, but she could make amends for them, somehow. Her thoughts race despite herself, always back to the same, agonized thought. _I've got to find Aragorn. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn't try to find him after he saved me like he did._ Even knowing Saruman's uruk-hai army was somewhere out there didn't deter her. Quietly, she stood, careful to check on Legolas and Gimli. They would never let her go if they knew she was leaving. But where was Éomer? And Grim? They had been with her when she fell asleep, a strong, warm presence at her back and front.

Stealthily she eased Burningstar onto her back, gritting her teeth against the pain of her shoulder moving up and down. Gwen struggled to think properly through the ravaging pain, but it was nigh on impossible. The heavily wrapped appendage had no range of motion to speak of, so it was difficult going. Once she was ready, Gwen looked around the sleeping caravan, careful to pick a path that avoided the most people. She was determined to find Aragorn – dead or alive.

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 _Please review._


	51. Anger and Regret

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

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 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Fifty-One: Anger and Regret**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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It wasn't until the sun began to lighten the horizon that Gwen realized she may have made a mistake in leaving the small encampment of Éorlingas warriors to go off on her own. In her defense, she was only just now beginning to have rational thoughts; each moment up to this point had been a blur – a painful haze of opaque horror. _Aragorn was probably dead_ , the rational part of her mind whispered. _You are wounded and alone with an army of uruk-hai not far._ She could acknowledge it wasn't her best choice, by a long shot.

Only the image of Aragorn – dead or alive, really – on some bank of the river, _maybe_ wounded and needing aid kept her going when her instincts screamed at her to find help and to rest. Gwen _couldn't_ quit on him – not when he hadn't quit on her or the hobbits, or any of their company before. It just wasn't her way. Gwen tried not to think of how angry he would be, knowing she was out in the wild alone without a weapon, or of how angry Legolas and Gimli would be, as well. Already she could feel their disappointment showering her. Or perhaps she was feeling her own sense of disappointment in herself. Gwen had mucked everything up, for sure. _You got a lot of growing up to do, girl_ , her father's voice reverberated in her head. It was so true, painfully so.

It made her sick to her stomach to think about losing her weapon so carelessly. Burningstar had slipped from its sheath during a nasty fall, and she had lost it in the moonless dark without knowing. She had been so hazy and unable to think clearly in those hours. Now, Gwen thought about going back to find it, but she had no idea which way to go. Even more, it made her feel sick with regret that she had been so stupid to come out here at all. _Oh, Glorfindel – I'm sorry._ God, she was such an ass. "I should have gotten Grim to go with me," Gwen muttered miserably. She knew he would have, if only to keep her safe.

Gwen stumbled again, this time on a jagged rock that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the lightening dark, and fell into something firm and...warm? Broad arms banded around her immediately, sending bolts of agonizing pain shooting down from her shoulder. She moaned aloud but was trapped by the heavy strength in those limbs. "Yes, you should have," Éomer's angry voice rumbled out of the dark to accompany the body. The smell of smoke and horse-musk was heavy on his heated skin. "Anything might have been better than _stealing off into the night_ ," he growled down at her, for the moment allowing her to cradle her head at chest level.

Gwen hadn't realized how _cold_ she was until that moment. Pressed as she was to his heavy frame, she could feel the heat radiating over her from him. Nearly delirious with pain and weariness, Gwen allowed herself to slump briefly in his arms, which only increased her discomfort. _But he is so warm!_ Just when she might have relaxed against him more fully, Éomer released her with an impatient, angry growl. As the sky lightened, Gwen could see he was _not_ happy. The dark look in his eyes made her cringe, but he held no sympathy for her ragged, dirty state.

Instead, he began to circle her like a wolf taunting prey. Gwen swallowed nervously, not knowing how to take this new, unwound Éomer. She had never seen him so upset, and her guilt multiplied. "Do you have any idea the panic you caused tonight?" he asked from behind her, and it unnerved her that she couldn't see him when he was moving like he was. Gwen felt trapped, and was truly unable to move, between her shoulder and what she was sure was a pretty severely twisted ankle.

Éomer's voice was low and guttural with rage. Gwen shivered. "Do you even _care_ _?"_ he thundered, his voice still deadly and low. He stalked around her, and pinned her again with his gaze. Gwen looked down, shame-faced and unable to look at the handsome features so twisted with disgust at her. _"Look at me_ ," Éomer commanded ruthlessly. When tears began to well in her eyes instead, he moved more quickly than she had ever seen him move, into her space, and then his fingers were on her chin, lifting her face to his eyes. "Look at me," he commanded again, this time more coldly, taking in the sight of her tears without pity. She hadn't thought about anything else but wanting to find Aragorn as she left the camp – not of Legolas or Gimli or herself. It had been stupid and selfish, and Éomer was right. She hadn't cared.

"Do not think to move me with your tears, girl," he growled lowly, bent over her so closely, the threat of him so implicit, and his face was inches from hers. With a grunt, he released his grip on her chin. "I had not thought you so selfish," Éomer said, his leonine features twisted with disgust as he spoke. Underneath that, though, Gwen saw the weariness and felt a wave of guilt consume her _. "_ The dwarf and elf are nearly frantic with worry," he snarled, gripping her arms again as if to shake her. She started to speak, but Éomer cut her off. " _Don't say a word_ , woman," he spat lowly, this time shaking her with each word. Bolts of pain flew from her shoulder down her torso, making her want to throw up. "I'm a single hairsbreadth away from beating you to _within_ _an_ _inch_ _of_ _your_ _life_ for this stunt you have pulled."

Gwen gasped, outraged at even the thought, but before she had a chance to tear right back into him for his audacity, she found herself swept into his arms. Stunned and gasping in pain at the unexpectedly bruising motion, Gwen barely had a chance to breathe when a moment later Éomer was running; his long stride ate up the ground swiftly, and for all his heavy mass, he moved as nimbly and silently as Legolas.

When she would have spoken, a single warning look cut her off. Clearly, he was still furious with her, but his focus had shifted. Faintly now, Gwen could hear the ominous beating of drums. _Uruk-hais!_ Fear spiked along with pain her chest, but she wisely made no sound. _And they are so close!_ More swiftly than ever now, Éomer moved them onto better concealed land, where the mountainous landscape created many crags and cave-like furrows in the otherwise open land. The sun was rapidly rising to the east, making Gwen more nervous about being seen. The uruk-hai had proven to be a more keenly skilled, deadly foe than any orc she had seen in Moria, and she and Éomer were far too exposed to be safe right now. Before she could point this out to the warrior, Éomer stopped near what looked like a caved-in overhang in the craggy rock wall, where a cave used to be. The big warrior placed her roughly down against the stone, making Gwen wonder what he was doing. This place was useless to them now, having been covered over with rocks and fallen boulders. It was, Gwen noted, few feet, at most, from the river Aragorn had fallen into, also. Not exactly the safest of places, uruk-hai notwithstanding.

"Stay here," Éomer commanded sternly before turning away from her to haul out the boulders that lined the old cave. What is this place? Muscle in his back and arms bulged as he worked, and Gwen found herself fascinated by the play of the muscles in his neck as he did so. Before long, Éomer had uncovered a shallow cave inside, leaving only enough space between the fallen rocks for them to pass through to the hidden space within.

"My father once taught me the wisdom of keeping secure caches where ever one may end up," he explained coldly of the tight, shadowed space. "This is one of many I have across the plains." Éomer motioned silently for her to crawl over the rocks and into the space, and she did so only after a moment's hesitation. The motion nearly tore the stitches from her shoulder, but she made it through, where she collapsed in a heap of tears and pain. The brawny male joined her a moment later, wriggling more smoothly through the space that she thought possible of a man his size.

Without a word, he calmly lifted her from the cavern floor and took her deeper inside the cave, where no passing uruk-hai would see them. It was nearly pitch black, even with the light from the hole at the front filtering in, but the warrior had no trouble moving about the cave. More gently than before, he placed her on a decent-sized pallet of furs and turned away to rummage through the packs of goods he must have placed inside.

After a few silent minutes, the pain in Gwen's shoulder began to abate, and rational thought returned. Éomer was silent, and though she couldn't see him, she knew he was still very angry with her. When his words did come, they were now icy rather than wrathful. "You are frigid, woman, to have so coldly left us all in the way you did," he growled, still rummaging through his supplies, clearly searching for something. His words were like a punch in the gut, all the more so because he had a right to think that of her, even if Gwen hadn't meant to come off that way. She _wasn't_ frigid; Gwen had only made a mistake. _A terrible, selfish mistake._

Long, tense, silent moments passed, and Gwen wanted to cry with welling guilt and shame, but she wouldn't, not with Éomer there. How could she fight against his arguments? He was right. Gwen felt rather than saw him kneel by her side with a heavy pouch in his hands, which he placed in her lap. His hands found her unerringly in the dark, and to her shock he began to undo the laces to her shirt. Impatiently, with a noise of frustration, he batted Gwen's hands away when she would have stopped him. "I am trying to help you, girl," he growled lowly, the thread of sound threatening rather than comforting. He untied her shirt, exposed her shoulder to the cool air of the cave, and reached for the pouch in her lap again. Moments later, his long fingers began lathering a cream on her wound that began to heat and burn. Gwen whimpered.

"You left my bed on this fool's mission to find a dead king, with a monstrous army close to you," he snarled, sounding as angry as she knew he felt. "This is but a small token of punishment. Cease your noise." _Shit, but he really has no empathy at all right now._ On one hand, Gwen could understand why he was acting so coldly to her, but on the other, it hurt her emotionally to know he could treat her so harshly. _He has good reason to, right now,_ her logical mind reminded her. When Éomer stood, he bumped into her twisted ankle, making her groan again in pain.

"Are you hurt again, woman?" Éomer asked harshly, his breath audible in the close space. When she didn't respond, he seemed to grow even more irate, cursing in long sentences in a language she couldn't understand – Rohirric. With gentle fingers that belied his brusque, roughened manner, he inspected her foot for damage before rising to full height above her. He ground his teeth together and forced a wheezing breath into his lungs, trying to calm himself. "By the Valar, you stubborn creature; you drive me to madness."

Since she had seen him, Gwen hadn't been able to get a word in edge-wise. Risking his ire, she tried to explain herself. Knowing full well at this point that her actions were beyond true explanation. "I told you I was going to find Aragorn one way or another, if nobody else was," Gwen murmured. "I meant it. And your bedroll on the ground hardly counts as a bed, _sir_." She was proud of how she kept her own emotions in check, even in the face of his legendary temper. Instinctively she knew that adding her own anger and guilt to the volatile mix that was Éomer pissed off would be inviting a world of trouble. Again.

The horse lord snorted with disgust. "Well, we're not going back anytime soon, nor shall we be finding your precious Ranger, so you've done a very nice job of finding him, I'll give you that." A sarcastic Éomer was painful to listen to, but she knew he was right. Again. "The uruk-hais are very close, so we will sleep and stay silent until they pass." The sun had now fully risen, giving them only a small bit of light through the whole in the rock wall he had made. It revealed a fair bit of supplies in the back of the cave, piled up carefully and hidden from first glance. The pile of furs she sat on was the only one in the place. And Éomer was quietly shucking his armor, muttering to himself. Gwen winced when he shoved the heavy cuirass away from him and turned toward her on the furs.

When he bent down on his haunches, very close, Gwen swallowed in apprehension. _What is he doing?_ The new day sun filtering so weakly into the darkness only outlined the massive bulk of his body over hers, sending a fission of awareness through her. He could have truly harmed her with his strength, but he had not, even in the worst of his anger towards her. Strangely, the sight of him towering over her even as he knelt made her want things she shouldn't want.

When Éomer spread his big body out beside her on the furs and pulled the largest pelt over them both, Gwen wanted to shudder, and only just managed to contain the sound. "This counts as a bed, Gwendolyn," Éomer's voice lingered in cave like a phantom, sounding derisive. A heartbeat later, Gwen found herself pulled into his hot, strong embrace and surrounded by all that he was. He settled himself against her skin, and for a moment Gwen forgot to breathe. She was cradled in the crook of his arm and covered by his limbs. His warmth was seeping into her skin, and she naturally began to relax against him. "Breathe, stubborn creature," he said with a hint of something in his voice. _Is he_ _laughing_ _at me?_

Gwen blushed and closed her eyes, settling into sleep.

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 _Please review!_


	52. Release

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Thanks so much for sticking with me for so long, guys...I've tried to make this one worth the wait. This is my_ ** _big bold warning –_** **_M rating ahead_** _. For those of you who don't like to read sexual situations, I'd skip the later half of this chapter._

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 **The Light Within:**

 **Chapter Fifty-Two: Release**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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Were it not for Éomer, Gwen was positive she would have been dead already. She had awoken to the audible sounds of uruk-hais passing perilously close to their hiding spot many, many more times than she cared to remember, and he had never once batted so much as an eyelash, though she noted he did not sleep. The man had nerves of steel. Hers on the other hand were already shot. The pain and fear she was dealing with had scrambled her brains somewhat, making her stupid – _again_ – and more than once the King's nephew had been forced to clap a broad palm over her mouth to silence her. Éomer stayed silently at her side in the furs, comforting her unintentionally with his presence.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep again, lulled by Éomer's warmth, Gwen noticed an elven blade amongst his things that she hadn't seen before. "You found Burningstar," she murmured drowsily into Éomer's chest. He nodded silently, the motion tense. "I found it a short way from where I found you," he whispered back pointedly. She could see the residual anger at her leaving still in him – in the taunt, tense lines of his body, and in the stiff curve of his mouth. No, he was not happy with her at all. Seeing him so angry made her regret dearly her choices. She could only imagine how Legolas and Gimli felt, and it made her sick with even more regret.

"I _am_ sorry, Éomer," she said softly, unconsciously snuggling her face into his chest as she lay. "I just wanted to find Aragorn." He grunted, and the sound struck Gwen as very masculine. Despite his obvious anger, Éomer pulled her closer, shifting her weight a little as they lay curled together. "You know now that is impossible, yes?" he whispered, his breath feathering her face as he looked down at her beside him. "We have to wait for nightfall to make our move. There is a slim chance that the gates of the Hornburg will be closed to us even if we reach Helm's Deep in time for the battle to begin," he added stiffly, clearly unhappy with the thought.

Inwardly groaning, Gwen began to understand even more the gravity of her mistake. Her desire to find Aragorn faded under the realization that they could be forced to sit and watch as the King and his brave warriors were slaughtered by the uruk-hai. "Well shit," she replied, wanting to curl up and cry at the thought of Legolas and Gimli facing that without her. _Without even knowing if I'm okay or not._ Éomer glanced at her, a touch of compassion in his ocher-tinted eyes. "It is too late for wisdom now, yes?" He whispered gently, though there was an edge of steel in his voice. At that moment, Éomer's stomach growled, signaling the need for food and interrupting their serious conversation.

She nodded sadly, scooting gingerly over to the softer pallet while he pulled out foodstuffs for them to eat – dried fruit, salted pork, and bladders of water. His big body made the small space feel even tinier as he moved around, but the nervousness he usually evoked in her was all but gone after their rest. _I guess you can't sleep beside someone for several days without getting comfortable_ , Gwen thought derisively.

The danger and power that cloaked him like a second skin no longer worried her, but rather, it inflamed her and made her more needy for him than she had been before. As she ate the food she was given, she attempted to shift her wounded foot only to squeak when a bolt of pain went up her leg. _Not good,_ she winced. Gwen watched with unknowingly desirous eyes as Éomer sank back to his knees on the pallet, his own eyes hooded and unreadable as he slipped her boot from her foot to inspect the sprain he knew was there.

"It's an old injury," Gwen explained quietly, careful to keep her voice even and hopefully not revealing her lusty train of thought. "I first sprained it outside of Bree a long while ago." Éomer poked and prodded the joint carefully before wrapping it in heavy gauze tightly. When he was finished, he leaned back on his haunches away from her, and the sunlight that shafted through the rocks at the entrance cut into part of his face, throwing his features into shadow.

"Let me have a look at that shoulder, Gwendolyn," he rasped, reaching for her shirt. The sound of his roughened voice saying her name made Gwen's nipples tighten. Though she knew his goal was not seduction, she couldn't help the way her heart sped up at his nearness, and the way her breath came in shallow jerks as his hands brushed the ties of her shirt loose once more. Though his eyes did flow south to her breasts when the shirt was removed, he was concerned first and foremost with the damage she had possibly done to the puncture in her shoulder. "Easy now, little one," he murmured when she jerked instinctively as he began to untie the clean bandage around her shoulder. Her face flamed red when the shirt she wore fell lower to bare one breast, but he really seemed concerned only with her wounds, and glanced only once at her flesh. His hands were warm on her chilled skin.

Though she knew _his_ purpose was healing, every touch of his hands had her tensing with desire. He had to have seen the way her pulse leaped in her throat, and how she couldn't seem to relax, but she didn't care. There was a strange coil in her belly that wouldn't go away, and as his long fingers traced the sides of her shoulder tenderly, she groaned. _Oh god I hope he mistakes that for a cry of pain._ "You must stop looking at me as you are, Gwendolyn," he warned tersely, at once seeming to grow irate, which confused Gwen. "I am only a man, and I have only so much willpower. This dance we seem to be doing must end."

Taking his hands from her, Éomer jerked up her shirt and moved away from her. It confused her, the signals he sent out. One moment he wanted her, and the next he was pushing her away. _It makes no sense._ Having so little experience with men, Gwen had no idea how to respond, only how she felt. With shaking hands she re-tied the laces. From across the cave, Éomer breathed in deeply, then sighed heavily. "I do not think you have ripped any of the stitches Hammalbrand has made, but it is puffy from stress." He handed her a pouch of thick cream she recognized as Éowyn's special blend, careful not to touch her directly. "Rub this on your shoulder," he ordered.

Éomer sat back against the other edge of the cave, watching broodingly with darkened eyes as the young woman did as he commanded. He was a single breath away from falling on her like a slavering dog, and he had to get control of himself. Éomer focused on his breathing, trying to ignore the girl who had so attracted his attention. But his brain was betraying him.

As her cream-covered hand disappeared inside her loose shirt, he imagined it was his own, searching for the sweet flesh of her – caressing. _By the Valar._ He forced himself to breath as her lips parted, probably with pain, he reminded himself. She didn't realize her own appeal; there was nothing within her that he could see that was contrived for his benefit – she simply was being herself. Flawed, beautiful Gwendolyn. Moodily, Éomer tore at a piece of salted pork, sucking strongly on the meat as it lay between his teeth. He had meant what he said to the girl – what was between them had to end. He had known that since their kiss in Meduseld. He couldn't have her, and that was that. _No one else should have her, either,_ a darker part of him pressed in his mind.

His mood turned black as Éomer imagined Grim against her sweet, smooth skin, pressed against her as he was last night. With a grunt, he forced such jealous thoughts away. _She can never be yours, Éomer._ Her friends had placed her in his care now, and his honor demanded she return to them safely. She breathed a sigh that made him swell within his breeches, and she straightened her shirt before passing him the tin of balm with a sweet smile.

"Are you hungry?" Éomer winced inwardly at the baritone depth of his voice – knowing it was yet another sign of his growing hunger for her, but Gwen didn't seem to notice the change. At her nod, he passed the girl a generous portion of the food he had been eating. They sat, silent and watching one another, as she ate. He was growing desperate for some distance between them again. When she finished, he motioned to the pallet of furs under her.

"I would sleep again, were I you," he said coldly, "to pass the time." Gwen found she didn't like his tone. He wasn't taking an attitude – no, that wasn't it at all. He was being distant with her. Again. _This man runs hot and cold._ Irritated at him, she tried to behave normally, and motioned to the furs as well. "Will you sleep, too?"

He shook his head, tossing his long golden hair to and fro with the motion. "I'm fine here, thank you," Éomer said formally, a far cry from his earlier intimacies. _What is his problem?_ She didn't understand his sudden change in demeanor. _Well, I know this,_ _Gwen thought to herself moodily,_ _the roller coaster ride we seem to be on has to stop. I can't take this insane twisting of emotion any longer._

"What in the devil is wrong with you, Éomer?" she growled from her place on the furs. Her temper was fraying. She watched him carefully, hoping he would meet her eyes and reveal something of his thoughts, but when he did, they were as cold as ice and twice as distant. "I am fine, Gwendolyn," he ground out sternly, a note of warning in his tone. His behavior and reticence was starting to piss her off. _Why can't he speak what's on his mind?_ That he was thinking _something_ behind those shuttered eyes was obvious.

"You and I know good and well that you're lying," Gwen spat, risking Éomer's ire more than ever now. "Half an hour ago you were cradling me like your lover and now you're acting frigid." Gwen growled with frustration. "I can't do this hot and cold bullshit you're using. Either you want me or you don't, but you can't have it both ways," she continued recklessly. In a smooth ripple of male power, Éomer moved, faster than she thought possible. Though his eyes were fierce, his words were gentle, and there was only the barest hint of space between them. "You have no idea how much I desire you," he bit off the words, spitting them from his mouth like poison from his place inches from her. "You are not safe here with me, and the sooner you realize that and _stop toying with me_ , the better."

His gaze was dark with feelings she could name, and the sight made her want him even more. In that moment, it didn't matter that he couldn't give her anything more. All that mattered, she realized with stark clarity, was this moment. _Between us._ Gwen raised a hand to touch his face gently, trying to find the words to make him see she _wanted_ his desire.

" _Do not touch me,_ " he bit out harshly, but she touched him anyway, caressing his chiseled, leonine features, memorizing his full lips and strong jaw beneath her fingers. "I'm trying not to be afraid of this desire you woke up inside me," Gwen whispered softly. "I don't care about the future, Éomer. I only want right now." They were centimeters apart now, their breaths mingling together. He was on his knees before her, not touching her at all, and she lay sprawled out on the furs like an open gift.

"I've tried to follow your signals, Éomer, but you have only confused me every day since we met, so I'm going to do what I want right now," Gwen murmured, tracing the tense lines in his neck and down lower, to the smooth, hard blades of muscle at his shoulders. She touched him, feeling the scratchiness of his beard, the swell of his lower lip, and lower. He was sweating and his neck was hot; when he spoke, the words were low and a warning to her.

"If you do not stop, _right now_ , woman, I am going to have you." Gwen could see that he was deadly serious, and his yellow-green eyes glinted darkly. His words didn't shock or scare her – she knew what she was doing now. "You know I am untouched," she murmured lowly, still touching him but not moving, heady from the power she wielded over him in that moment. Éomer seemed lethargic to her, his eyes drooping and his mouth firm and heavier than normal, but he watched her like a predator watching pret. _Is this what desire looks like?_

She had never seen it for herself up close. Gathering all her courage to her, she leaned forward the last scant inches between them and kissed him chastely. He was as still as rock, all tense, coiled power under her hands. "I would have this be my final day a virgin, if you would have me," Gwen said, praying he wouldn't reject her advances. Would he accept her offering? Heartbeats passed, punctuated only by their heavy, puffing breaths.

"You have no idea what you are offering," he murmured, "I would ruin you for marriage." Éomer's honor demanded he make it plain, what this would do to her. If he were a better man, he would not touch her no matter how she begged, but Gwen made him weak, just as he feared she would. Still, he wanted to give her this last chance to walk away. "It doesn't matter," she replied firmly. "Only right now matters to me." _I could die tomorrow, after all._ She kissed him again, this time trying to evoke a response from him. With a throaty groan, Éomer finally took what she was so innocently offering, knowing in his heart he would be damned for it. But the bleakness of the future fell away, leaving only them, together, in that one moment. Careful of her injuries, he pulled her into his strong embrace and kissed her for all he was worth.

Drawn up strongly by his kiss, as if his mouth held puppet strings, Gwen wrapped her arms around his neck, giving herself over to his strength and experience with joyous need. His lips were firm and full under hers, and they distracted her from the travel of his hands, which crept down to the hem of her shirt to capture the skin of her stomach in their hot caress.

She gasped at the pleasure she felt at his touch, and he took the opportunity to invade her mouth with his tongue, tasting the smoky flavor of the pork she'd eaten. He, too, tasted of meat, but also of sweet dried melon. His hands gripped her waist, bringing her up, higher, into his arms, rubbing her sensuously against him. Éomer released her mouth from his with a groan. "By Béma, woman, what spell have you cast upon me?"

He had never felt desire so strongly in all his life. With a rumbling groan he captured her mouth again, this time releasing her thick tresses from their braids and spearing his hands within the silken mass, gripping firmly at the roots. Gwen couldn't seem to stop touching the heavy muscle of his chest – it was so firm and broad under her hands. She wanted to feel his skin, but the play of his heavy muscles was distracting her.

Gwen tugged at his shirt, almost mad with the need to touch him. Éomer broke their kiss briefly to wrench it up and over his head, baring his amazing chest and sculpted arms to her fully. "Jesus, you're gorgeous," she sighed, already seeking him with her fingertips. His skin was firm and supple and hot – everything she thought it would be from the first time she saw him bare. He made an impatient noise as she explored him. He was already removing her shirt. Éomer was tender and gentle with her, aware that her shoulder was aching and sore, but the heat that blazed in his eyes scorched her nakedness once she was free was worth any pain she felt.

"I have wanted to touch you like this since I caught a glimpse of this pretty nipple the first time," Éomer grunted and she moaned aloud when his big palms came up to encase the softness of her breasts, his thumbs fingering her nipples into puckers in the cool air.

"Éomer," she gasped, shocked at the new sensation, and his name on her tongue became a supplication. Gwen didn't realize her breasts could be so sensitive. He grinned wickedly down at her, and even on his knees she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. After a moment, he brought himself down heavily atop her, plundering her mouth with his tongue. His cock was straining against his clothing now, hard and hot and ready to take her.

They broke apart with breaths, and Éomer reached for the tie on his breeches, preparing to bare himself fully to her. With a single hand she paused his progress, and pushed him down onto the pallet, allowing his long legs to spread clear across the narrow space of their hiding place. With a shy look, Gwen bent to remove his boots, trying not to be self-conscious about her half-nakedness.

He reached to her and rolled one nipple between his blunt fingers, sending bolts of pleasure through her body. "You are so beautiful, little filly," he crooned, sweeping his hands down her smooth, gentle curves and soft, slim stomach. He noted with curiosity the scars that lined her body, but did not comment. With deliberate slowness he loosened her breeches and pulled them down to her ankles before turning to his own.

They parted only briefly enough for her to remove her boots before skin met skin again, hot and _right_. Éomer cradled her tiny form to his larger, stronger one, feeling in that moment like the most powerful man in existence. Gwen was so fragile, so small. So easily crushed. Seeing her there, atop him, caused every manly instinct he possessed to rise up inside him, demanding that he protect her and keep her safe from all harm. She looked at him with eyes full of trust, and with infinite tenderness he laid her down on the pallet beneath them, his eyes roving the feast that her body became beneath him. Gwen felt vulnerable for the first time in that moment, and he saw clearly that vulnerability warring with the desire in her eyes. Desire won, and she reached for his naked body, wanting him on her. "Slow..." he breathed. "Let me look at you. I would know this gift you would give me today."

Gwen shivered in the cooler air when he rose up and away from her, her nipples puckering in response. Éomer placed his hands on her again, moving lower to her hips, and then to her smooth thighs. He looked like a Viking conqueror, all brawn and golden beauty. His chest carried a smattering of the same tawny golden hairs as his head, and again, lower still, at the base of his cock. Seeing him jutting so large and proud from his body did interesting things to her.

"How will you fit?" she wondered out loud, drawing a dark chuckle from him. He _was_ built proportionally. "Very carefully," he promised with eyes full of dark passion. Éomer spread her thighs slightly with his own, baring her sex to his eyes completely. With a needy growl he cupped her there, making Gwen jerk slightly at the new feeling. A long, tapered finger explored her folds, and he bent to kiss the sweet juncture. When his finger delved into her wet slit, she groaned at the invasion of even that smaller digit. The feeling was exquisite and so new. "Ah," Éomer looked into her eyes, satisfaction and possessiveness clear in them. "You are wet for me."

But he was determined to send her higher – until she screamed out her pleasure. To that end he placed his mouth upon her, one broad hand holding her hips still beneath him. He began to taste her, and she surrendered herself to the rising pleasure of his tongue at her core. She gasped and moaned deeply when his tongue lapped at her slit, and then higher, to the nub of nerves that made her jerk, but it wasn't enough to drive her over the edge. Gwen was missing _something_. Unexpectedly, Éomer drove his first digit into her tight core firmly, and she screamed as she came, drowning in wave after wave of sweet pleasure – her first orgasm. The sound broke off as Éomer pressed her face into his chest, ever mindful of the dangers they faced.

Gwen's legs relaxed around his broad shoulders, spent of all energy, but Éomer was far from finished. Carefully, he continued to probe her slickness, stretching her with his fingers, and reawakening her body to his sensual touch. She was growing impatient; Gwen wanted to know what it felt like to have a man – Éomer – inside of her. Though she had no hope of forcing him, she pulled at him impatiently, and he yielded to her desires and moved fluidly to cover her body with his own, aligning her center with his own. They laid together like that for many minutes, breathing together and enjoying the intimacy between them.

Gwen felt wholly cherished and protected beneath the big man, who leaned on his broad forearms to keep from crushing her with his weight. She reached between them to touch his sex, and was amazed at how hot and silky it felt. He was a large man – there was no doubt in her mind his invasion would hurt, at first. The broad, ruddy head of his cock seeped white fluid, and she spread it around his hard flesh, fascinated by this man's body. She placed him between her legs and spread her thighs to give him more room to move. She met his hot, possessive gaze, wholly ready for this.

Carefully he worked himself inside, the blunt tip of him sinking a few inches inside, stretching her full. Gwen began to burn, and whimpered at the sweet pain of him inside her. Her sounds drew his attention, and pulled out, only to sink gently further in. "Oh," she sighed as pleasure began to make her tingle, and let the word linger in the air. Éomer made the same motion once, then twice more, before he reached her maidenhead. She felt stuffed, full to the brim with his manhood.

Éomer looked at her with a gaze so tender it made her want to weep, and as he held her eyes, the big warrior pushed through the thin bit of flesh of her maidenhead to sink to the hilt, bumping painfully against her cervix. Tears of pain welled, but only a few fell. Their union was complete, in that moment. They both knew it. "You are mine," he groaned helplessly, pulling out after a moment and sinking back inside. He was growing lost to the feel of her tight, wet heat. Gwen rubbed her hands over his strong, broad back and he moved inside her, feeling the pain of his invasion turn to pure liquid pleasure with each stroke.

"Éomer," she moaned.

He pumped inside her, driving her pleasure higher, until it eclipsed the pain he had given her, and she began to move with him, no longer stiff but actively seeking her next orgasm. With a hint of ruthlessness Éomer captured her mouth with his, invading it with his tongue as his cock did her body with each stroke. He wrenched away from her brutally, leaving her mouth swollen from his kiss.

Éomer felt the first pulse of her feminine sheath around him, signaling the sweet fire that would soon consume her. Gwen was lost to the pleasure, but he stilled inside her, refusing to allow her release until she acknowledged him in the way he demanded. "Éomer," she pleaded, trying to move her hips but unable to fight his implacable strength. "Please." To hear her beg for him to take her was the ultimate conquering. He kissed her softly, and she mewled, feeling the burst of orgasm begin and roll through her. He caressed her hair with his hands, propped on either side of her head, all the while murmuring sweet nothings into her ears as she flew to the stars beneath him.

The gentle, pulsing thrusts that followed sent her pleasure higher, and he followed her over the edge of sweet pleasure, shuddering against her slight body before collapsing, utterly spent. It was only the beginning of a long, sweet day for them both.

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 _Please review._


	53. Back to Reality

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within:**

 **Chapter Fifty-Three: Back to Reality**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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 _March 11th,_

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age_

Gwen woke just as the sun was setting, comfortably intertwined with Éomer's body. His heavy chest served as her pillow, and sometime during the night he had thrown a massive, heavy thigh across her hips. She wasn't sure there was much better in the world than being close to him. They slept as they had made love – deeply, with abandon, and completely wrapped up in one another, as close as they could get. The intermittent tenderness and ferocity with which the big horseman had claimed her body with his own would remain forever etched in her memory. The flashes of deep care he had shown her, as if she was precious and fragile – made her feel as if she was the center of his world. Frankly, she couldn't think of a better way to lose her virginity than to the ferocious warrior.

Pinned underneath one brawny arm and thick leg, Gwen stirred, her body needing to stretch, and quickly growing restless under the heavy cage he made against her. Éomer woke, instantly alert, at her first movement. He was tense at first (as he had been every time) and then relaxing as he realized where they were once more. Instead of releasing her, Éomer pulled her even closer with a grunt, pressing their bodies together and nuzzling his face against her chest.

"Good morning," He rumbled against her, sounding pleased. Truthfully, Éomer enjoyed the picture she presented stretched out beside him. He brought the arm that pinned her to him up to cup her face with a gentleness that made her heart stutter. "Hi," Gwen murmured back, stretching luxuriously under his body. A moment later, he sat up, studying her with new, hotly intimate eyes. He watched as she sat up gingerly, wincing when her joints protested. Sex, it seemed, _did_ burn calories. She wanted to giggle at the remembered conversation she had endured with Jessie so long ago, but stifled it, instantly grieving her lost friend. _Now is not the time for that._ It seemed that it was never the right time for it.

"Are you very sore this morning?" Éomer asked gently, distracting her instantly as he pulled her against him as his fingers gliding to delve between her legs. Gwen's breath caught as he fondled her gently. "It is definitely evening," she teased, sounding breathy as the pleasure built again between them. " _Mmmm._ " Éomer made a sound deep in his throat, and it was a cross between a growl and a purr. His hand was making her warm and needy again. "But are you hurting badly?" he asked again. His voice was ragged and slightly hoarse from sleep, and the husky quality of it made her shiver deliciously. Even after a near marathon of sex with the man, she _still_ was affected by him. _Is that normal?_ Gwen inclined her head back, enjoying the quiet intimacy between them, and smiled a little.

"No, I do not hurt _there_ as badly as my shoulder does," she decided. Éomer's gaze probed her for long moments, but she waved him off, saying, "I think it's normal to be sore after the first time." Éomer inclined his head in acceptance of her words before removing his hand and turning his attention to the waning light still trickling into the space. She missed his touch already. "We need to be going soon," he sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Though I would give nearly anything to stay here with you another fortnight, at least," Éomer teased, smiling devilishly over his shoulder before it bled away quickly under the force of his serious demeanor. "Helm's Deep is not very far, but on foot it will take the better part of the night at least, and your companions will be expecting us."

His eyes lost their intimacy as darker thoughts crept in, and Gwen was sad to see it go. She, too, started to think of all the things she had to make amends for in regards to Legolas and Gimli. She would be lucky if they forgave her at all. Still, Gwen believed she could and would do better in the future. Beside her, Éomer stood from the floor and began to dress, silently. Gwen watched him silently, admiring the view her new lover presented. The Éomer she had come to know that day was everything she could want or desire in a lover – attentive, passionate, and knowledgeable. He had set her on fire with a single touch. He still did.

But reality had returned, reminding them both of their duties and responsibilities. _Christ, this is the heir to a whole effing realm, besides!_ _Gwen_ knew what that had to mean for him, and for her. What was between them was amazing, but it would never be more than sex. It couldn't be. Even as she accepted that, Éomer surprised her, pulling her from her thoughts by dragging her up and into his now-dressed lap with a hot kiss on her neck. "What are you thinking so seriously about, woman?" Éomer asked, sounding gruff. His breath teased her throat, and he nipped playfully at the juncture of her shoulder, making her shiver and want him all over again. Gwen smiled up at him, again struck at how utterly masculine he was. It was little wonder she had fallen into a puddle of desire around his feet.

He waited for her reply, his eyes missing nothing in her face, and she hoped she was careful enough to cover up her thoughts. "Just thinking about the battle coming," she hedged, not untruthfully. His features hardened again as he, too, considered what was to come. She tried to shift away, to begin to dress, but he tightened his arms around her, effectively shackling her to him. Gwen laughed up at him, smacking his chest lightly. "Let me up," she ordered. "I need to dress."

Playfulness returned to him, and Éomer stroked one lean hand from her breasts to her hip, a clear possessive move. He watched her carefully. "And what if I prefer you like this, completely bare for my every desire?" She shivered at the intensity in his eyes, and she felt her body tense with now-familiar desire. Still, they _really_ did have to be going. Joking, she said, "That's all well and good, _Lord_ Éomer, but I would wager every man at Helm's Deep would prefer the same, and I am definitely not for doing the naked parade into battle." She laughed, but he didn't seem to think the thought amusing as she did. Heartbeats passed, and he didn't respond. When his features darkened worryingly, she twisted in his lap and pressed herself against him in reassurance.

"You know I'm playing right?"

Éomer didn't answer for a moment, looking faraway, but he played with her hair and after a heartbeat, he bent to kiss her possessively. When he released her lips, he murmured, "Yes, I know you jest, little one. But I do not doubt the truth of your words – how can any man look upon you and not desire to see you as I have?" His eyes trailed her face. "To claim you for their own as I have?" His mouth twisted into a snarl at the thought, and Gwen realized in that moment that there was so much about this man and his ways she did not know or understand at all. _He has no right to be jealous of others._

The moment was broken when his eyes turned playful again. "Begone from me – and dress, quickly, before I have you again." Éomer pushed her from his lap unceremoniously, tossing her clothes over her playfully. Seriousness crept back into him, though, after a moment's pause and he motioned to the entryway. "I will scout the perimeter, and ensure the uruk-hais are not too close," he murmured down to her, already more withdrawn. Grimly, he strapped on the last of his armor, trying not to watch as Gwen dressed. He pushed his big body through the opening they had made and was gone before she could finish tying her breeches. Her own body protested every movement she made, but it wasn't unmanageable pain. It was strange – she was pleased on a visceral level to carry Éomer's marks on her body, and the reminder of the day they had shared together.

But there was so much she didn't understand about herself and him and them, so she didn't dwell overmuch on her reaction. Éomer stuck his head back into the cave a minute later, saying, "We should be safe traveling close to the passes. Are you ready?" She was, nearly. Delighted to have her blade in her hands once more, she strapped Burningstar to her back along with her pack before turning to the entrance. Getting out of the cave was much more entertaining than going in had been, but she managed well enough with her brawny lover's help. Together they made for Helm's Deep.

* * *

They came _way_ too close to Saruman's army for her comfort.

Éomer _seemed_ unconcerned about their nearness, but she couldn't tell what he was really thinking. Gwen found it worrisome that she was unable to read him when they were in situations like this; Gwen needed to be able to react quickly if something were to go wrong. But beyond that, it felt like he had completely closed off from her since they left the cave. She had expected this behavior to a degree – he was at heart a warrior, not a lover, and he always became a different person during a fight, anyway.

Sleeping with the man had done little to change that, and Gwen tried not to take his sudden cool demeanor as a slight against her; he was doing simply what he had been trained to do his entire life. She skirted a jagged rock, only half-aware of her surroundings. Unexpectedly, Gwen slammed into Éomer's back as he came to an abrupt halt, signaling for quiet when she would have questioned him. His hand on her arm was both reassuring and a warning for silence. Thankfully, she had the good sense not to make a sound, despite the fact her sudden stop caused her to bite her tongue painfully. The reason for his actions became quite clear a moment later when an orc – a tiny, slavering little maggot compared to the huge uruk-hai they had seen all day – moved noisily just up ahead, muttering and cursing to itself psychotically as it moved. _Oh eff._ Instantly, Gwen grew nervous; even one orc discovering them could have disastrous consequences.

It was coming towards them. With every step the creature took, she felt Éomer grow more tense, and she knew he was preparing to strike. Like a coiled snake, his muscles bunched in growing readiness, his hand at his blade. Gwen, too, reached slowly up for her blade, not knowing if the witless orc would see her obvious movement or not. The tension in the air ratcheted upwards, and the orc came so close she even held her breath for fear it would hear her.

The ugly creature stopped just shy of their hiding place, and dropped its britches, revealing mottled, fleshy, pitted thighs and a hairy ass. _Oh Jeeezus, I could have lived without that sight._ Yellow piss streamed down from the orc's standing position, and she grimaced when it came within a hairsbreadth of her feet. Still, neither she nor Éomer moved an inch for fear of bringing down the entire uruk-hai army on them. Long, awkward moments later, the creature hiked up his filthy britches and moved away, rejoining the slow-moving caravan of uruk-hais a short ways away. Gwen and Éomer shared a look of dual relief and disgust before continuing on, silent as wraiths as they went. When the mountainous keep came into sight later, in the wee hours of the morning, she wanted to whoop with joy. Her breeches were chaffing her thighs and womanly bits from where wetness had been leaking out of her all day. _Women in the romance novels never seemed to worry about that kind of thing after sex!_

She wondered if it was normal to crave a hot shower after sex, and if Éomer would find it insulting or not. But God knew, she really, _really_ wanted a hot bath right now. Gwen contemplated that as they ascended the stone causeway leading up to the keep, trying not to wince. What had started out as a mild ache between her legs at the beginning of their journey had become a throbbing pain. Her shoulder, however, was curiously pain-free. As she thought of _that_ particular wound, of course, the pain returned. _Of course._ Anxiety crawled inside her gut, making Gwen want to hide away from the confrontations that she knew were coming.

When the victorious whoops of the Rohirric warriors guarding the keep's walls rose up upon seeing she and Éomer, unexpected tears rose in her eyes. These men sounded so _glad_ to see them ascending the stone path to the keep gates, and she really was happy to be safe – if only for a few days – but there was a visceral part of herself that cried out that she hadn't found Aragorn. Gwen was so happy to be able to see Legolas and Gimli again – though she did have apologies to give to her friends - but sadness for the man whom she had risked all this to find was still gone – _dead._ She had no choice but to accept that now.

 _Aragorn is still out there somewhere – and it's my fault._ The thought crushed her.

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 _Please review!_


	54. Forgiveness

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Voyanisen – Grief does make people do stupid things, (very irrational, stupid things) especially young people. It is a "stop-start-stop" process that forces people to take two steps forward and one back all the time. Anyone who has ever lost a very close loved-one, survived a deployment, or been through a divorce can relate. I don't see Gwen's choice as just necessary for the plot, but also true to who she is (combined with my own knowledge of this grief process): a young, grieving, unable to cope woman-child forced to grow up too soon. I endeavored to make this process in Gwen as realistic as possible._ _I_ _am so glad you are enjoying the story, and I do hope you feel similarly strong emotions towards the characters in the future. I do so enjoy evoking those feelings in my readers!_

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Four: Forgiveness**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

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Seeing the keep so close made Gwen feel alternately hot and cold. Guilt rushed through her, followed closely by hot, self-shamed tears. _Oh my god, Gwendolyn, get a hold on yourself, for Christ's sake._ Time to put back on the big girl panties already. _How am I ever going to look Gimli and Legolas in the eyes now?_ She dreaded seeing them as much as she was looking forward to being with them again. Taken as a whole, Gwen had been pretty stupid and selfish the last few days, and she knew they had to be worried sick about her.

Éomer interrupted her inner monologue for the first time when he stopped abruptly, and she found herself bracing her balance on his arms again by sheer physics. "Gwendolyn?" His husky voice had a note of concern – of intimacy – in it that made her want to cry even more, and to her horror, she could see that he could see it, too. "What is the matter?" He asked, sounding gentle with her for the first time. "Are you in pain?" His arms came around her, and he didn't allow her to move despite his earlier insistence that they keep going. Heat rushed between them, created by their closeness, but it was ignored by them both. Gwen debated what to tell him. Finally, she decided a half-truth would be best.

"I am thinking about Aragorn, that's all," She whispered sadly. Shrewdly, Éomer studied her face, looking unconvinced she was telling the whole truth. Still, he didn't push her, and his eyes softened. It seemed that the new intimacy between them was affecting his responses as well. "You think your friends will blame you for his passing?" He asked lowly, in a soft whisper. "For not returning with his body?"

God, but he distracted her just with his heat and firmness and everything Éomer surrounding her. Resisting the urge to touch him, she nodded. "We all make mistakes," he said after a moment, and made a noise. "Your friends will simply be glad you are safe," Éomer murmured down to her. "As I am." With one final probing look, he released her and turned once again to their destination, where the guards could be seen walking the stone walls and preparing for the coming battle. With a soft, depressed sigh, Gwen followed him up the wide stone pathway to the entrance of the fortress. The gate was already up, and as they passed through, relieved cries sounded out from the crowds milling in the cobblestone pathways. Clearly, there were people who were glad to see them again.

Gwen felt like a bug under a microscope. She could see neither Legolas nor Gimli in the crowd, which was a good thing. She knew the minute she saw them she would break down like a child. Éomer led her to the main keep, keeping a careful eye on her in the crowds. She knew he was worried about her ankle, but her slow progress wasn't a result of that old injury, but rather a reluctance to face anyone she knew.

For the first time in her life, she felt wholly overwhelmed with herself. With crippling grief, guilt, sadness, a touch of self-loathing. All Gwen could focus on in those moments was placing one foot in front of the other, in moving forward. Together, she and Éomer moved unerringly through the many people inside the fort, until at last they reached the stairs leading to the keep. To her relief, neither Legolas nor Gimli waited there either. Instead, the first familiar face Gwen caught sight of was Éowyn, who hugged her brother before turning to her with a rebuking frown that rapidly dissolved into a delighted smile. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Gwen found herself caught up in an embrace.

"I was so worried for you!" Éowyn cried, sounding genuinely upset, which made Gwen feel even more guilty. _This is your punishment, Gwen. The weight of your mistakes._ Éowyn pulled back from their hug to stare down at the younger woman. "When the others came and you were not among them," the other woman paused as a shadow of emotion passed over her otherwise clear features. "I feared for your life." Éowyn looked to her brother, who was standing close by them, watching the reunion with carefully guarded features. Éomer bowed to his sister slightly at the waist before cupping his sister's cheek gently. Gwen grew warm in her chest at the sight of the burly warrior treating her friend so lovingly. "She is safe now, sister," he said gently. As he turned away from them to clasp arms with another warrior, Gwen noted the rapid-fire change within his demeanor.

All traces of the man in the cave with her were gone, leaving only Éomer the warrior in his place. He spared her a knowing glance before turning and disappearing into the crowd without another word. No doubt he was going to meet with his uncle and the other soldiers. Gwen watched him go with private heat stealing into her thoughts, and a little sadness. _Would she ever know that loving side to Éomer as Éowyn did?_ Gwen knew she wouldn't – that privilege would go to his wife, whomever she would be. _What a lucky woman._ All she would ever know was Éomer the warrior, and now Éomer the lover, but never more. Unexpectedly, the idea made her morose.

Pushing aside her saddened train of thought, Gwen smiled at Éowyn, and allowed her to help her gingerly up the narrow steps to the keep. Normally she might insist on going up without help, but the steps were slick and craggy from years of weathering ice and snow, and Gwen was feeling weak and in pain. Luckily, Éowyn distracted her with talk. She immediately wanted to know everything that had happened on the plains. Gwen flushed with heat, not wanting to talk about it at all. _Right, because she really wants to know I had fabulous first-time sex with her brother._

"We lost many men," Éowyn explained sorrowfully, filling the void with her own thoughts as they walked. Gwen could hear the weary sadness in the other woman's voice. "There were so few to return, I doubted that you and my brother would come back," Éowyn added, a little choked up. Guilt surged in Gwen's chest, but Éowyn pulled her to a stop so unexpectedly that she was pulled from her own thoughts. "I'm so glad you're okay, Gwen," she said firmly, grasping at Gwen's arms like a lifeline. The genuine relief she saw in her new friend's face made her regret her foolish actions more than ever.

Her ankle was not as swollen as it had been this morning, but it still ached as they took the many steps. _Aragorn is going to be so angry with me, knowing I hurt it again._ The realization that he, in fact, would _not_ be angry with her ever again hit her like a freight train, right in the chest, and with a gasp Gwen crumpled, nearly tumbling back down the steps and taking Éowyn with her in the process. In that moment, she felt the full weight of acceptance and grief settle over her like a cloak. _Aragorn is dead._

"Gwen!" She barely heard Éowyn's gasp of fright, because from that moment, her senses were overwhelmed and everything seemed to move too quickly. To her unending shame, hot tears streamed unheeded down her cheeks in an instant. She couldn't seem to get enough air, and she was suddenly gasping for it, clutching Éowyn's hand in a vice-like grip. Her chest was hot and achy, and a great ball of emotion seemed to take up all the space behind her ribs, leaving no room for breathing or even a heartbeat.

Voices milled around her, and in the next instant she was being picked up and cradled against a massive, hot chest. The smell of pungent sweat and coal surrounded her. _Grim._ Sweet relief blasted through her at the familiar person holding her. "I don't know what is wrong," Éowyn was saying. "One moment we were walking together up the stairs, and the next she had collapsed." Her voice was filled with worry, and it didn't fade, even as Gwen was carried through the keep.

"She has been through a lot in the last days, my lady," came the answering reply, and the voice was not Grim's. _Legolas_. The Éorlingas man took each step easily with her in his arms. Gwen immediately wanted to plead with him, with all of them, to forgive her for her selfishness and stupid choices, but she couldn't get the words past the strangling ball of suffocating grief in her throat. All she could do right now was focus on breathing.

"You cannot be taking her to your bed!" Éowyn cried as they entered an unfamiliar room, a tiny alcove with a low wooden-framed bed in one corner. Ignoring the other woman, Grim set her down upon the thin, wheat-stuffed mattress, immediately feeling the prickle of the stems on her arms as she lay. Gwen didn't see it, but Legolas gave Éowyn a stern, impassive look, declaring, "She needs rest. Here she will get it undisturbed." He knelt down to the bed where Gwen lay quietly, focused on breathing and calming down again. "Would you get some water for her, please?" He asked politely. The grief she felt for Aragorn began to give way to the guilt and shame she felt for disappointing her friends. _How can I even look at him?_ She could feel Legolas beside her, brushing a hand through her hair, but she couldn't force her eyes to open and take him in. At that moment, she wouldn't be able to endure the disgust on his face.

"I must return to the forges," Grim rumbled, close by, and she winced internally at the concern in his voice. "I'll be by to see you, Gwennie, soon. You aren't alone." His quiet encouragement bolstered Gwen's determination to face her mistakes head on, and shoving her grief into a box inside her mind, she forced her eyes to open, wiling them to meet the blacksmith's. The soft care in his eyes reminded her so strongly of Aragorn in that moment that the grief threatened to rise again, but he was gone before it manifested, leaving Legolas and Gwen to themselves.

Here, now, came the part that was hardest – facing her friend's disgust. For long moments they looked at one another, he an ages-old elf, and she a barely-legal human, so wholly different and yet so linked in friendship. Legolas seemed to read her mind in those few silent moments, until at last he simply said, in Sindarin, "Breathe, _elen_. The guilt you are feeling is mine as well. We both made wrong choices," he admitted softly, taking her hand in his, linking them further. Understanding and care – even love – crept into his normally unemotional eyes, making relief sweep into her marrow. _He didn't hate her._ "Together we will do our best to go on," he murmured, hands grasping firmly at hers, as if to convey his feelings through touch alone, "As Aragorn would have wanted us to do, my dear friend." The moment was broken momentarily, when, a moment later, Gimli rushed in. He was heralded by the clinking of chain mail swishing around his ankles.

Seeing his two friends waylaid by emotion and recognizing the moment they were sharing, he simply joined them on the narrow bed, taking her other hand from Legolas', where he grasped it in his own. Their unspoken forgiveness of her made Gwen nearly choke on her relief. "I am so sorry, Legolas," she whispered, eyes darting between her two closest friends. "Gimli," she pleaded, "Forgive me. I was so stupid."

For long moments, the two males simply sat quiet, holding her through her hands. They were together again, their combined presence already beginning to mend the hurts that had been made in the wake of Aragorn's passing. _That_ grief still throbbed in her chest, now a more manageable entity. "Wee girl," Gimli rumbled lowly after a long moment, "I'm just glad you're safe." Gwen's reply was a shuddering sigh of breath, filled with emotion.

Éowyn returned with the water, but seeing the three there together, simply retreated to wait for a less intrusive moment to enter. For a long while, the three friends just sat together, silent, heedless of the massive army headed their way, forgetting all other duties and responsibilities. They needed this moment together. For Legolas and Gimli, knowing Gwen was safe meant that they could grieve for Aragorn freely. For Gwen, being safe meant she would have to come to terms with the feelings that weighed on her, so that she could find some renewed purpose in the coming days, and not be a dead weight on everyone. At the very least, Gwen swore to herself in those moments, she would do Aragorn justice. Somehow, she would honor him as she hadn't done in the last days. Somehow.

* * *

 _Please review._


	55. Power Balance

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Just FYI, I have definitely taken a few liberties with Tolkien's timeline of events with these chapters. According to Tolkien the battle at Helm's Deep is over within a day of their arrival, but I am stretching it out a bit. Beyond that, I am choosing to keep elements from the movie-verse as well, but it won't be too difficult to bear, I think._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Five: Power Balance**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Éomer looked at the group of fledgling recruits surrounding him and tried not to groan in frustration. These boys and old men would never suit his – or his uncle's – needs. _These grass-green recruits can barely wield a sword!_ Still, he had been given a duty, and it would be done, damn everything else. "The approaching uruk-hai will seem invincible," he continued, addressing the new warriors in front of him, "But they are not. Aim for the arms, here," he modeled his words on a straw-stuffed dummy, "or here." He looked grimly around at the recruits again, searching for an unafraid face among them and found none. He sighed.

"Keep practicing," he ordered. Éomer turned from them abruptly, awash in sadness for the old men and boys, unable to bear to look at their faces. This battle would not end well for them. _And perhaps for none of us._ And despite the grim battle advancing upon them, he found his thoughts straying damnably to Gwendolyn. Innocent Gwendolyn, who so ignited his passions. _Fragile little thing._ Even now he wanted to find her – where ever she was – and have her again. His obsession with her was growing, morphing into something totally different than their wordless agreement within the caves. He wanted _more._

His uncle fell into step beside him as they together ascended the ramparts to inspect the preparations occurring there. As always, his King's company was pleasant and reassuring, though not at all distracting from his wayward, inappropriate thoughts. They walked together for many minutes. "How long have you been bedding the girl, Éomer?" His uncle's bald, completely unexpected question drew him from his thoughts, and stopped him in his tracks. _How did he know..?_ Éomer thought briefly of brushing away the question entirely as he might normally have done, but his uncle persisted, and being keenly intelligent, it was hard to hide anything from him. King Théoden missed nothing in his nephew's face.

"On the plains, then?" the King inquired. When Éomer did not respond, he nodded assuredly, reading correctly his nephew's lack of response. "Yes, I can see I am correct." The elder man braced his arms on the stone walls before them, studying the darkened land beyond the keep with critical eyes, allowing his question to pass. "Saruman's army will not be long in coming, if what Lord Aragorn says is true," he murmured. Éomer had been shocked when the Ranger had appeared at the gates of the Hornburg mere hours previous, nearly unconscious, but alive. Éomer nodded, but he was inwardly confused by his' uncle's change in conversation. "It will not be long, yet, Uncle."

"No...it will not," the King replied. His uncle turned to study him again. "Concerning the wench, Éomer, be cautious in whatever association you have begun with her," he advised sternly. "I need you, here and now, and not between some pretty girl's thighs. I do not need to remind you of your duties, but I am concerned about your loyalties in this regard." Fury filled Éomer almost instantly as he absorbed his uncle's words.

"Have you _ever_ had cause to question my loyalty, uncle?" he demanded, coming very close to disrespect in taking such a harsh tone. King Théoden turned back to the ramparts, his features as calm and as serene as ever, unfazed by his nephew's ire. "I am not blind, Éomer, and nor have I forgotten entirely the fire the right woman can light within a man," he assured, not unkindly. His uncle met his eyes understandingly. "This girl...she is a beauty, yes, and brave as any warrior. But she and her company have business all their own to attend to, and we are mere diversions." His uncle's eyes turned fierce and hard as he studied the darkening horizon. When they sought and met Éomer's own, they were fiery with anger and determination. "This land is _ours_ to bleed on, ours to die for."

"She is not Rohirrim, and never will be, and you will one day be King. Never forget that."

* * *

 _Hours earlier..._

In the morning light on the day after her hasty arrival, Gwen was forced to face one of the darkest facets of her personality – insidious self-deprecation and blame. She could barely stomach the memory of the previous night's total breakdown, despite understanding logically she had endured quite a lot of emotional strain over the past week. She had been exceedingly absorbed in herself, and was ashamed and embarrassed that she had lost control of herself so fully, and worse yet, that it had been witnessed by those closest to her. Even Éomer had come by to see how she was, though he was distracted and distant. Gimli and Legolas had provided much comfort to her, of course, but no amount of acceptance from her friends could ease the burden she placed upon herself.

The dull throb in her shoulder reminded her even now of how Aragorn had died, and how, if only marginally, the blame for his demise could be laid at her feet. Had she not been there, in that fight, he might not have gone over that cliff's edge. Gingerly, she wrapped sturdy, clean linen around her weakened ankle, absorbed in her thoughts and in her task. _Who knows how my being here has changed things, really? I was never supposed to be here – with Aragorn... with Frodo. With Éomer._ _As emotionally fragile as she had been,_ Gwen could barely stand to think of Éomer, and of the brief time they had spent together. The desires he had awakened in her were new and uncomfortable, and clouded with the deep guilt she felt regarding Aragorn.

Ruefully, Gwen tied off the linen, checking carefully to ensure it was not bound too tightly around her leg that it would cause her foot to go numb. She had a battle to fight, and Legolas and Gimli needed her now more than ever. She couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of Éomer. Breathing deeply, Gwen pushed aside all thoughts of the men in her life and finished dressing, eternally grateful that Éowyn had kept her things safe for her in the confusion following the skirmish with the warg riders.

With a wince, she rose from the bed as the door to the small chamber opened to reveal Legolas, dressed for battle and looking particularly grim. "There is something you need to see." Curious and alarmed at Legolas' grave countenance, she nodded; Gwen allowed him to immediately guide her out of the room, grateful for his lithe strength when every step she took made her leg ache. Still, she couldn't fathom what was so urgent, and the elf's smooth features gave nothing away. "What is happening?" She asked quietly in halting Sindarin. "More bad news?"

Instinctively, Gwen tensed, not quite ready for whatever emotional blow he would impart. They reached the outer entryway of the keep, dim light from the cloudy sky above spilling in to light the darkened space. People milled about along the stone stairway, to the point of clogging the flow of movement. With only a ghost of emotion in his face, Legolas turned to guide her into the open air, where Gimli waited. To her horror, the stoic dwarf had tears tracking his ruddy cheeks and wetting his braided beard. Alarm shook her, and Gwen felt certain whatever news there was to impart this time she would surely be unable to endure. Though her first instinct was to sag against Legolas' side, Gwen crossed to the clearly stricken dwarf, wanting only to comfort him and determine what had hurt him so that she could hurt it, too.

"Gimli?" Gwen whispered, shaken to her core by the tears in his eyes. She paused to look back at Legolas, whose own countenance had cracked to reveal deep emotion. _What in heaven has happened?_ She didn't know what had caused this wrenching emotion in her friends, but it scared her deeply. "What is -" A hand upon her shoulder cut off her query, and with considerable annoyance in her features, Gwen looked up to address this new interruption. All words fled her at the sight of the man before her, to be replaced with the brightest joy she had ever known in her life.

"Aragorn?!"

* * *

The next hours were a chaotic whirlwind of activity for Gwen.

Aragorn's miraculous appearance at Helm's Deep had been deeply healing for her, and hard to believe, but there had been no time for true celebration. The uruk-hai army had been spotted along the horizon as the sun dipped low into the sky, sending the entire keep into a frenzy of battle preparation and underlying worry. Gwen had sought refuge from the mob inside the room she shared with Éowyn. While Gimli and Aragorn were off finding chain mail to suite the stout dwarf, she and Legolas sat repairing old arrows, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the small room. Seeing the massive army bearing down on them had brought home to her that this was one battle they might not walk away from, and the thought made Gwen gloomy and reflective, for all the joy she felt at Aragorn's reappearance.

She finished trimming the delicate, essential fletch of one arrow, sighing audibly; Gwen drew Legolas' attention with her plainly heavy thoughts. "What weighs upon you, _elen_?" He asked without glancing up at her from his task. The easy roll of Sindarin off his tongue made her smile as much as his endearment. He had returned to treating her in the same, easy manner he had always used; it seemed she had a second chance with the elf, and it was more than she deserved. Gwen was determined not to ever squander it in favor of her own selfish impulses ever again.

In the same tongue he spoke, she replied, "I worry about the coming days." Carefully Gwen clipped at the delicate feather on the arrow in her lap, working to even out the edges to ensure proper flight. "The uruk army is massive, and all we have to defend ourselves are repaired arrows," she sighed. Gwen lifted the arrow in her lap and sighed again, fingering the feathered fletch lightly, lost in thought. "The odds definitely seem against us," she finished finally in Westron. Legolas nodded in agreement but didn't reply as his own thoughts turned inward.

Their comfortable company was broken by the violent slam of the wooden door against the stone walls of the keep. Éowyn burst into the room, clearly in a fury. Her face was streaked with angry tears, and her delicate hands were clenched angrily at her sides. Her skirts billowed around her ankles as she moved, each snappy motion indicating anger. Gwen was taken aback by the appearance of her friend, and concerned by her unusual emotional display.

"I'm going to tear his head off!" Éowyn nearly shrieked, obviously unaware she had an audience. Her frantic movements slowed as she realized Legolas and Gwen were watching her with curious, wary eyes. "Oh, my...I didn't realize..." To Gwen's shock, tears welled in the woman's eyes, which she immediately tried to squelch.

At the sight, Legolas made a hasty retreat with a murmured apology, leaving Gwen and Éowyn abruptly alone. Gwen set aside her repair tools and patted the bed next to her. "Come, and sit. Tell me what's the matter," she murmured. Instead, Éowyn began to pace, her skirts rippling around her with every movement. It was clear that whatever it was, it had her in a major temper. "I am going to kill him, I swear," she puffed furiously. Éowyn shot a black look at some unfortunate piece of furniture.

Gwen, though slightly amused as Éowyn's loss of control, was confused. "Come and sit and tell me what happened," she replied. Grumpily, the other woman flopped herself onto the bed with a huff. "My _brother_ ," she spat, "insists that I go with the women, children, and elderly into the caves beneath the keep. For _safe-keeping_." Éowyn made a shrieking noise again. "As if I need it." She spared her friend a moment's glance before continuing her tirade. "I can wield a blade as well as any man, but _no_ , Éomer insists I cannot fight because I am a _woman_." Gwen could scarcely believe her ears. _Oh, Éomer, you fool._

Gwen was beginning to see why her friend was so irate. She sometimes forgot how utterly backwards Middle Earth was in its views compared to Earth. Though she had always chafed under such high-handed treatment, Gwen recognized and accepted that women were just treated differently here than where she was from. Éowyn had grown up with her brother's high handed ways and therefore bucked all such authority. Still, a part of her could see Éomer's point of view. He wanted to keep his sister safe, and Gwen could respect that. Éowyn's angry voice drew Gwen from her thoughts again.

"He's got old men and boys half my age wielding a blade, but me? Oh no, that's unheard of," she spat angrily. Gwen noticed with a degree of humor that the woman had not stopped for breath yet, and she certainly had not been able to get a word in edge-wise. "Even you get to fight!" Éowyn cried. "It's not fair!" Gwen knew the Shieldmaiden meant no offense toward her by her words. When she finally paused for breath, Gwen stepped in, saying gently, "Do you know how long it took Aragorn to have even a fraction's confidence in my ability to fight?" She asked. Gwen had never given explicit details about their travels to Éowyn, and shook her head ruefully. "A damn long time, I'll tell you. He and.." she stopped, her throat clogging a little at the image of Boromir wrestling with the hobbits resurfacing in her memories. "He and Boromir taught me everything I know about a sword, and Legolas taught me to shoot a bow," Gwen finished. She knew she still had a long way to go before they would ever _not_ worry about her in battle, but seeing her do better in training _had_ given them more confidence in her battle-skills. _They'd really had no choice, though._

"You still get to fight," Éowyn broke in petulantly. Gwen grew a little exasperated, and cut her eyes at her older friend, sighing. "You think I _want_ to?" she exclaimed incredulously. "It's scary as hell, Éowyn, and I would give my left arm to be able to go down into those caves with you and not be called a coward by anyone." She rose, pulling the other woman to her feet. "But if you want, I'll talk to Éomer for you." Éowyn's face lit up at the suggestion. "Oh would you? Maybe he will listen to you…"

 _I doubt it,_ Gwen thought ruefully. But it couldn't hurt to try, could it?

* * *

"Absolutely not, Gwendolyn," Éomer declared, his features firm and cold. _Prince Éomer is back, alright._ His eyes held no warmth for her. "My sister is going into the caves with the others unable to fight, and that is final." Gwen shot Aragorn a pleading look, but he just shrugged at her covertly, making Gwen want to shout in frustration.

Éomer was being a stubborn ass. He stood before her, towering really, arms folded over his chest. His face impassive and cold. He wasn't going to budge, clearly. _Well crap._ Gwen felt sorry for Éowyn, but she had tried. There was no point making an ass of herself over this issue, especially given that his reasoning wasn't all that illogical. Gwen turned to leave when Éomer's next words stopped her clear in her tracks.

"You will join her, as well," he tossed over one shoulder, almost like an afterthought. It was a clear order, and as she turned to face the stone wall of a man again, it was one Gwen knew she would not follow. Clearly she had heard him wrong. _Does he honestly think I will follow his orders?_ Outraged, she looked to Aragorn, who suspiciously would not meet her gaze. "You do not have the right to tell me what to do, Lord Éomer." She spoke calmly and formally, just to piss him off. When his eyes narrowed, she knew she had angered him. _Score._ Aragorn, sensing a world-class argument about to begin, extricated himself much as Legolas had done with Éowyn earlier.

"Coward," she muttered as he passed her. Resolutely, Gwen faced her lover, prepared fight him to the end. When the door closed behind Aragorn, leaving them alone together for the first time since they had returned, she lit into him. "I don't know who you _think_ you are, but if I want to fight in a damn battle, I will fight in a damn battle," she hissed belligerently. "You may have authority over Éowyn in matters like these, but you do _not_ over me."

She turned, seeking to extricate herself now that she had made her point, fully prepared to fight despite his so-called orders. "Now, if you excuse me, I have preparations to make," she growled. Éomer moved faster than she thought possible, shutting the door even as she opened it an inch. Gwen turned, prepared to give him more of a blasting than she already had, but he cut her off quite effectively with a hard, cold kiss. "Shut up and listen, girl," Éomer rejoined lowly, eyes hot and fierce. He was deadly serious, she saw. When Gwen opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off again with a hard kiss. This happened three more times until she gave up with a scowl, spitting at him with her eyes instead of her words.

"Good girl," he taunted, his smile hard and flinty. "As you recall," Éomer began reasonably, as if he wasn't forcing her silence with kisses and preventing her movement with his body. "You put yourself into my keeping upon our first meeting, and despite the ridiculous unfeminine desire to do battle you seem to share with my sister, I intend to see that duty through to the day when you leave these lands for good." He placed a thick finger over her lips when she started to reply. "You affirmed that choice just days past," he murmured intimately, his voice heady and mellow. "You _will_ go to the caves with my sister, and you _will_ do it _quietly,_ _"_ he ordered. "Now go." His closeness drew her in as it always did, but this time she did not act upon it.

Lowly, furious at his high-handedness, Gwen spat, "If you think having a roll in the hay with me gives you the right to tell me -" Éomer cut her off again, this time swooping in like a bird of prey to bring his face mere millimeters from her own. His eyes were as hard and brittle as glass when he looked at her, and her softer side began to quiver. _Where was the warmth and laughter he had given before? Who_ was _this man?_ This Éomer was harsh, cold, and far too unyielding. "You may have been innocent of the ways between men and women, Gwendolyn," he whispered between their bodies, pressed hotly against her torso. "But you are not stupid." His hand came up to grasp her chin, not painfully. "I have every right to keep you safe." Éomer released her and retreated, his own point made.

"A woman, even one such as yourself, should know in your current _weakened_ state you are no good to anyone, much less the Rohirrim. You will join the women and children in the caves," he ordered a third time, his decision final. Furious, Gwen fled from him, shaken more deeply than she would admit by Éomer's words. Despite what he thought, she _hadn't_ thought Éomer would use what authority she had given up to him in the caves against her. It had been a natural power balance, her deference to his experience sexually. She hadn't calculated his naturally bred desire to dominate and protect the women in his life, because she hadn't considered herself a part of his life beyond that one time.

Éomer obviously felt differently about it. _He's not a modern American man, Gwen. He obviously doesn't see you as his equal in all things. Especially now that you've had sex with him._ Burgeoning realization nearly bowled her over. It didn't matter to him if they were married or not. By giving herself to him even that once, she had submitted to his authority and always should.

And a man like Éomer wouldn't forget that.

* * *

 _Please review._


	56. Distraction

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Tolkien purists, I am so sorry to tell you that certain aspects of this chapter are not canon._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Six: Distraction**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

The situation at Helm's Deep was rapidly going from bad to worse.

At least that was how Gwen saw it. _Not that it matters what I see or think or feel. Or want._ The thought was pretty petty. Immature. Narrow-minded. Very well likely untrue. In her present state of mind, however, Gwen didn't care one whit. She was in a foul mood. Not only had she been ordered by His High-and-Mighty-Highness to remain in the Glittering Caves that lined the mountain during the rapidly approaching battle, but Aragorn had _agreed_ with that order. _Agreed!_ She still couldn't believe it. He would never have given the order himself, but since it had been he was in line behind it. _The nerve!_

Angrily, Gwen stalked through the corridors, ignoring the simmering pain in her shoulder and ankle. _'It's for the best,' he says! 'I am afraid for you.' Pah. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard._ She bumped into a passing soldier, murmuring a barely-audible apology as she did so. _Fucking men_. Gwen wanted to hate them all. She definitely wanted to hate Éomer, at least. " _Elen_!" Legolas made his way through the throngs of soldiers and women being led to the caves, where they would be sheltered from the explosions of battle best. The crowds parted at last and he was able to reach her. His gray eyes were grave with concern as he read her face clearly. She never had been able to hide her emotions.

"Something has happened to you," he stated gravely in a staid, distinctly elvish way. His hand reached up to brush the hair from her eyes gently, to study her more carefully. When they were jostled by the crowds, he pressed close to shield her automatically.

Vaguely, Gwen noted the annoyance in her elven friend's face. Wordlessly he pulled her away from the crowds, into an alcove where they would have some semblance of privacy. "What is wrong? Tell me now, so that I may help you." Gentle Legolas saw nothing at all wrong with the way he commanded her to speak, and normally she probably would not have either; he only wanted to help her, and logically she knew the men of Middle Earth thought nothing of ordering a woman around. They couldn't fathom women being equal to men.

Understanding and agreeing were two different things altogether, however. The tenuous control Gwen exerted on her temper frayed and snapped, and she scowled darkly into Legolas' eyes. "I'll tell you what's wrong, Legolas. I am _sick_ to death of men around here thinking that because I don't have a pair swinging between my legs that I am somehow incapable of making sound decisions or handling things on my own," she seethed. Legolas' stunned expression told her he had not expected her to blow up like she was doing.

"Aragorn and Éomer have decided I cannot fight so it's _down to the caves_ for me like all the others." Gwen emphasized her words with swinging arms, motioning to the aforementioned caves. "Bet that pleases you, too, right?" With a scowl and a sound of disgust, Gwen turned to stalk away. Legolas recovered from his shock, and she had taken two steps before he stopped her progress completely. She found herself face-to-face with a visibly angry elf.

Sternly, he stared down at her, studying her gaze and features. Angry Legolas, she discovered spoke more quietly than forcefully, though his speech lacked none of the force of a more voluminous person. "If by that you mean am I pleased you will be safe? Then, yes, of course I am pleased," he said indignantly. Gwen had the grace to be shamed slightly by her lumping him in with the overbearing men of the world. "But it does not please me to see you so unhappy, even as I recognize why Aragorn has commanded you thusly. You must be kept safe, _elen_ ," he said gently as he rubbed her arms with his hands. The anger seemed to bleed out of him quickly. Gwen wanted to scream with frustration, however.

" _I._ _don't_. _want. to. be. kept. safe_ ," she bit out, frustrated. "Why is it that no one here understands that I can make my _own_ decisions?" Legolas stared down at her for a long moment after that before releasing her arms and straightening. "No one has ever questioned that, _elen_ ," he said quietly at last. "Do _you_ not understand that we are likely to perish here in this place? That Helm's Deep has left us sitting like a wounded deer in an open field, waiting for the enemy to come and end our lives?" Legolas' face was deadly serious.

"Aragorn is making the right choice for you, even if you would selfishly deny him the right to protect you where he can. It seems you are doing that quite a bit of late." Gwen could clearly feel his disappointment in her. "You are not the only person he has concerned himself with these last days, yet you are the only one he seeks to remove from danger; he, and Éomer, have worked to ensure that you, and the Lady Éowyn, at least, survive these coming nights."

For a long moment, Gwen stood stunned. "But I want to be fighting with you, and Gimli! All of you!" she croaked out, not caring at that point who overheard them. But Legolas was gone. With re-surging emotion, Gwen realized he had left her standing there, alone, with her thoughts. Gwen sighed. "Why is that so wrong?"

Still, he had a point. And, she was being selfish, again. _Shit._

* * *

Unlike Legolas, Éowyn proved to be positively understanding of Gwen's complicated feelings.

As they gathered their belongings in preparation for the move to the caves, they traded witty barbs about the men in their lives and laughed together. It was cathartic for them both, and soon most of their true anger had bled away, leaving only weary resignation coupled with a strange sadness. Gwen knew she was in no condition to fight, but Éomer's words to her the previous night had placed her in an indefensible position that made her feel powerless and without ability to defend herself. She supposed her confused feelings had more to do with their romantic dealings than with his high-handed orders, so she didn't mention them. She didn't want to place Éowyn in the middle.

Her musings were broken by a loud, horn-like sound echoing through the keep, announcing the presence of someone new within. Éowyn shot up from her place on the bed with a gasp. "That is no Rohirrim horn!" she cried. Gwen shot a confused look to the other woman, "Is it the enemy?" she gasped. "I thought we had more time to prepare." Hastily Gwen rolled to her feet to strap on her gear. She may not have been fighting in the battle alongside Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, but she refused to be caught in a bad situation with her pants down. There was no reason not to be armed one way or another.

She started to hoist Burningstar over her head when Éowyn stopped her with a hand and a small, tinkling laugh. "I do not think it is the enemy, Gwen; shall we find out what is going on?" Nodding, Gwen placed her blade upon the bed and followed the Shieldmaiden out of the room and into the even-more-congested corridors leading out into the causeways of the keep. Clearly they were not the only ones curious about who had arrived. It took a long while, but the two women were able to break through the hordes of massing people to reach the steps down to the inner causeway. Once there, movement became easier, as the King's guards were keeping the crowds at bay.

They allowed Gwen and Éowyn to pass silently, and the two women descended the stairs to find a large contingent of elven warriors standing at attention before the King. Gwen saw Aragorn together with Legolas and Gimli, speaking to a tall elf, who was clearly the party's leader. Gwen glanced through the ranks of the elves standing before them with awe, wondering where they had come from. _Surely not all the way from Rivendell!_ Excitement began to flow within her as she took in the elves presence at Helm's Deep. They surely were there to help the Rohirrim!

Éowyn, having never seen a real elf before, other than Legolas, was gaping at the tall, statuesque warriors who stood so stoically in front of her with awe. Each of them carried a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and a long, elven knife. "Where did they come from, Gwen?" She whispered, barely taking her eyes from them. She had no idea that her stares were growing rude, so Gwen pushed her friend out of her awed reverie with a gentle nudge. "You are staring," she whispered, causing Éowyn to jerk violently. She reddened considerably before catching sight of her uncle and making excuses to go and speak to him.

Gwen didn't have the slightest clue where these elves came from. " _Elen_!" Legolas called to her, and she could see he was waving her over to where he stood with Aragorn and the elven commander. They were talking about Helm's Deep. "It is very enclosed...one way in, one way out. It will not be ideal for open combat, Aragorn," Legolas was saying. As she crossed to them, the elven commander turned to see her, and to Gwen's shock and amazement, Haldir stood before her. "Haldir!" she cried, automatically addressing him in Sindarin. _So these elves came from Lórien!_ "It is so surprising to see you here!" she exclaimed gladly. "Why _are_ you here?" She barely stopped to take a breath. "Where is Rumil? Did he come as well?"

The elvish tongue rolled off her lips with amazing speed. She blushed when Aragorn shot her a look, but Haldir merely looked surprised, his elven mask of stoicism hiding much of his emotion or thought. "Your command of the elvish language has much improved, Lady Gwen," the tall elf complimented. He clasped her hand before dipping his head in deference to her. Strange, Gwen didn't recall the Marchwarden of Lórien being so... _courtly._ Still, she was happy to see he and his men here, on such a horrible day. Seeing Rumíl again would be a pleasant diversion from her troubled thoughts. She couldn't help but wonder if Galadriel had seen their struggles in Rohan within her magic mirror and sent her men to help them. _Wishful thinking, Gwen._ And yet, here they were!

"Haldir and his men are here to aid us in the coming battle, _elen,_ " Aragorn explained, happiness twinkling in his eyes. It made her joyful to see it there. Gwen nodded. They needed all the help they could get; she just hated that she wasn't going to be among them. When she said so, Legolas smiled and started to reply, but his words were cut off by a harsh, echoing bray. "Uruk-hai!" Up on the parapets, tense soldiers were pointing and shouting down to them. It seemed the enemy had arrived, sooner than expected. Almost instantly, pandemonium broke out as soldiers shouted orders to one another and supplies were thrown to and fro.

Gwen could see the keep's defenses were ready, if sparse. Éomer surprised her by appearing at her side, as quiet as a wraith. "Come." Annoyance filled her, but she did as he commanded, knowing now was not the time to argue. He ushered both she and Éowyn up the stairs and into the stone walls of the outer bailey. Where Gwen had not resisted, Éowyn did, with relish. Gwen watched with a sort of glee as the siblings argued.

" _Please,_ Éowyn," Éomer pleaded. "Do not fight me on this. You have no idea the masses we face out there. Go to the caves." His eyes echoed his words, but to Gwen they begged with her to help him as he glanced at her momentarily, and she found her heart softening toward him. For a moment she saw the man she had given her virginity to on the plains – the gentle one under the warrior facade. But Éowyn would not budge. _He's going to be killed if he has to worry about Éowyn the whole time,_ _Gwen realized._ And suddenly, just like that, she fully grasped why Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli wanted her kept safe at all costs. Because they loved her. Understanding made her own selfish actions of late seem that much worse. But they loved her even still.

"I'm _not_ going, Éomer. I'm not," Éowyn was saying, sounding disgusted and angry. "Neither is Gwen." Éowyn looked to her for support. Gwen sighed, knowing whose side she would come down on this time. Gwen grasped Éowyn's hands and met her determined gaze regretfully. "Éowyn, remember how I told you it took Aragorn and Boromir a long time to trust me with a sword?" At her nod, Gwen continued, "It's the same here, and then some. You are Éomer's baby sister, and as much as he might _understand_ your desire to fight alongside him, all you are going to do is drive him to distraction trying to keep you safe."

Éowyn seemed to consider her words, and with some trepidation Gwen realized she could hear the steady beating of the uruk-hai drums as they moved into the valley. "Come on, Éowyn, let's go." With a final glance at Éomer, the two women disappeared into the keep.

* * *

 _Please review._


	57. Damned If You Do

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Seven: Damned If You Do**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Gwen, armed and fully packed, descended into the yawning, open caves behind the Deeping Wall. Éowyn was trembling – with nerves probably – but nevertheless led the way down the slick, roughly hewn stone where hundreds of scared, defense-less women and children sat, prepared to wait out the battle within the dim, cavernous space. Éowyn had no fear of the dark spaces she walked into, that much was obvious. More than once, she tossed a concerned glance over her shoulder to Gwen, who took each step far more carefully than she felt necessary.

Gwen, however, remembered all too well what things could linger in the deep, dark places of this world, and placed each step she took with caution. Oil-soaked torches flickered to and fro along the wall of the keep, casting shadows and light around each person within the cavern. Halfway down the narrow staircase, the smooth stone of the keep turned jagged and rocky, and Gwen knew they had left Helm's Deep itself and entered the maze of jeweled caves that the Rohirrim called the Hornburg.

Ahead, Éowyn carefully sidestepped a grimy, dirt-streaked child who was playing with bits of glittering rock that had fallen free of the cavern's walls, and at last, _finally_ , they reached the floor of the caves. In the firelight, the space did not seem so wide and undefined, and Gwen relaxed. _This is not Moria_ , she told herself. _No goblins or balrogs to be found here..._

Or so she hoped. If there was one thing she had learned while traveling through Middle Earth, it was never to assume anything. Her knowledge of the world she had known did her little good on the best days in this place, and so she had to learn it all as she went. Her instincts had begun to fill in the gaps for her, and that helped even as it made her seem paranoid. Éowyn was watching her closely for signs of anxiety even now.

Gwen attempted a weak smile, to which Éowyn smiled with sympathy. She knelt to the floor under the strong light of one blazing torch, wincing when the low, barely audible thunder of the storms brewing overhead crashed into the mountain, causing rumbles and shakes inside the cave. Clasping Gwen's hand in her own to pull her down beside her, Éowyn said reassuringly, "We will be safe in these caves. It is an ancient fortress, with caverns that extend for miles below where we now sit. This is but the antechamber."

She broke their shared gaze, eyes roving the gleaming stone. Gwen knew she would not understand the terror of Moria that she – and the others – had endured within the Misty Mountains, but she tried to explain her anxiety anyway. With a small smile, she replied, "This isn't my first rodeo inside a cave, you know. We, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and I, had to cross the Misty Mountains to get here." Voice dripping with understated humor, Gwen continued, "It was quiet an eventful journey."

She allowed herself to grow distracted by the play of light over what must have been a vein of some precious ore within a razor thin-layer of stone across the cavern, and missed at first the effect her words had on the Éorlingas woman. Éowyn gave her a confused look, her eyebrows furrowing together over her nose. "What is a rodeo?"

Gwen hastily remembered that her scarcely used, but still thought-of Earth-lingo would not be understood by _anyone_ , and explained, "Oh, well, it's an event people go to where I come from, where people ride bulls and horses for sport. I only meant that I have experience with caves," she finished with a laugh. "Though I have to admit this one is much nicer to look at." Unavoidably, an image of a long-dead dwarf skewered by a goblin arrow rose up to greet her words, making Gwen shiver at the memory.

Éowyn noticed. "These caves have a bit more of a draft than anyone likes," she said apologetically, pulling a pale woolen shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Gwen studied her face a moment, lingering, before sliding away to study the others sitting around. Silence descended, save for the trickling of water that flowed within the mountain, and phantom sounds from above. What was going on up there? All of those with Gwen – women, children, a few very aged men – all wore the same weary, terrified looks on their faces, and the sight of them all sitting around her, waiting, made her want all the more to be up on the parapets with Aragorn and the others, in the thick of the battle, rather than here waiting for the end.

The brief encounter she and Éomer had had with the uruk-hai army on the plains had been terrifying, but only because of the sheer size of the forces they had seen. Gwen had a feeling their numbers were far greater than what she had witnessed, and the low, hard ball of anxiety within her stomach grew. As much as she tried to tell herself that worrying over the battle's outcome would do no good to anyone, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen should the Rohirrim lose. _We'll be slaughtered_ , she thought, _like cattle and pigs to the market._

Gwen caught sight of a young, terrified mother clutching an infant to her breast, trying her damnedest to nurse her baby and remain calm. She had seen, too, what uruk-hai did to their enemies. She wrenched her eyes from the mother with a strong swallow, trying not to remember Boromir's passing. _That girl's younger than I am_.

It felt wrong – so very wrong – to be sitting next to all the other defenseless women and men and babies while her remaining friends fought for all their lives. Her shoulder itched viciously as it healed, and Gwen scratched it unthinkingly before pulling back with a low, soundless hiss. She had to find something to occupy her mind. Shrugging off her pack, she dug around in search of something to do. Her journals – one full, another a work in progress, held no interest for her.

She came to the book on triage care given to her by Lord Celeborn in Lórien. _Lord, but that feels like an age ago._ Absently, Gwen attempted to count the months that had passed on her fingers using her monthly cycle. When she held up the eighth and last finger in counting, she exhaled deeply. _Eight months! Nearly two since we left the Golden Wood._ She could scarcely believe it. She pulled out the as of yet-still _mostly_ unreadable elvish medicinal book, set on attempting a passage or two.

Anything to get her mind off what was going on with her friends. After a while, Gwen gave up on the elven tome, and placed it back into her pack for safekeeping. Beside her, Éowyn dozed but stirred lightly every time the slightest noise drifted down from the keep. Time passed slowly, and Gwen began to grow restless. She fingered the thin, sturdy leather that lined the hilt of Burningstar, contemplating nothing and many things at once. The blade, when unsheathed, seemed to wink at her.

Legolas' words to her seemed to fall away as Gwen grew more and more anxious, and soon she barely remembered why it was she had agreed to come down to the caves when she could be above fighting. She didn't want to let anyone – much less Aragorn or Legolas – down, but every fiber of her being was telling her to get up and go fight. But she didn't.

Éomer's pleading gaze in her mind's eye kept her still and prone on the cavern floor. He had desperately wanted Éowyn – and Gwen – to be here, in the caves. The silence of these walls was getting to her. Surely she would be able to hear something of what was going on above? But as much as she strained to hear anything above the gentle, whistling breeze through the darkness, she could not catch even a whisper of sound. It made her anxious. Tense. So tense, in fact, that when the cavern shuddered under the force of some kind of explosion above, Gwen nearly jumped from her skin.

All around, little babies and women started to cry as dust and rock fell from the ceiling to rain over them ominously. The sound of the blast had been audible – clear. But Gwen was confused and frightened. _Surely that isn't a bomb_?! Éowyn was attempting to sooth the others in the cavern, to keep them calm, but dread had taken hold of Gwen, to the point that not even rationalizations could deter her grim thoughts. _I've got to get up there...what if they are dying?_ "That's it," she murmured.

Gwen knew it was foolish, but she genuinely felt it was the right thing to do, to go and help her friends however she could. Without warning she rolled to her feet, Burningstar in hand. Éowyn and the others were startled by her unexpected actions. "What are you doing, Gwen?" Éowyn cried as Gwen grimly swung her blade's scabbard up and over her head smoothly, where it settled like an old friend between her shoulders. Ignoring Éowyn incredulous expression, she picked up her bow from where it lay on the floor of the cavern innocently. She turned, saying,

"I can't sit down here while this cavern comes down around our ears. I've got to go up there and find out what's going on," she said determinedly. Éowyn saw the look in her eyes, but still placed a restraining hand upon her bow. "But..." Éowyn looked torn. Gwen knew she wanted nothing more than to go up there and fight herself, so she knew instinctively why Gwen was trying to leave. But the woman was clearly worried for her.

Gwen shifted her weight with a steely smile that she meant to be reassuring but that probably wasn't, ignoring the slightly pain she felt in her ankle as she did so. "I'm armed," she replied simply, unsheathing Burningstar. After a moment, Éowyn shakily removed her hand and could only watch as her brave, odd friend took the stairs quickly up and out of sight.

* * *

Chaos greeted Gwen from the moment she exited the narrow passage leading down into the caves and into the keep proper. Men were streaming into the keep, shouting and cursing and fighting all the while. Gwen knew she had to find out what was going on, and she dare not ask anyone for fear of being sent back down in the caves.

Vastly preferring the high ground the keep's walls provided to the wide, open dike running between them, Gwen made for the parapets. She knew that the uruk-hai had more than likely already reached the outer walls, but she would take her chances. Better that than the raining wicked-sharp arrows. She past many soldiers along the way, most of whom barely spared her a glance. The few that did seemed confused and dazed by her presence, but none tried to stop her progress, for which she was grateful. There was no way she was going to be sent back down into the relative safety of the caves like a wayward child, unless it was Aragorn, Legolas, or Gimli doing the sending.

As she reached the wide, open arch of the keep where it met the outer walls of the parapets, Gwen saw many Rohirrim men laying dead around it, as if they had died trying to escape their enemies rather than fight. Pity and understand bloomed within her. She was scared, too, but Gwen knew she had to do this. Fear made her anxious, though. Tense, even. She barely had time to react before a fully-grown man came hurtling out of thin air, missing her by inches. He hit the wall with a nasty thud before slumping to rest at her feet. To her horror, Gwen realized this man had no head at all, and that his newly-dead corpse was still spurting blood from his completely severed carotid artery. _Oh holy shit_.

Vomit rolled in her gut, but she swallowed her nausea down. A moment later, a snarling mass of orc-goblin spawn appeared in the open doorway, brandishing a dull, blood splattered hunk of metal. It had a vicious-looking spike on the end. With a hoarse shout, Gwen leaped into the air toward the uruk-hai, surprising him. That moment of surprise allowed her to spear him with Buringstar through the liver, and before he could react, she had yanked it out of him again. With a wet snarl the creature raised his own weapon, but he had no chance to wield it against her, because she took advantage of his slowness and hacked at his hulking form with everything she had.

Her shoulder screamed a protest, but Gwen ignored it. The uruk-hai gave up the fight and fell into a pool of black blood at her feet, covering her in the process. The quick spar had allowed her to forget her fear long enough to summon the courage to step out onto the open parapet and see what the hell was going on. Arrows whizzed by her ears, causing Gwen to duck for cover, but she couldn't take another step if she tried. Even to her untrained eyes, she could see the battle had not been going well.

To her shocked surprise, Saruman's minions had somehow blown a gaping hole into the Deeping Wall, and hordes of uruk-hai were streaming into the Keep. _How in the fuck did they have the gunpowder to blow anything up?_ She didn't know these people even knew about gunpowder! The supposedly impregnable keep was being overrun by massive uruk-hai. All around the call to retreat was going up, causing Gwen's heart to plummet in her chest. They weren't supposed to _lose_ , even if the odds had been against them from the start. But clearly the Rohirrim, and the elves, too, were fast losing this battle. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

* * *

 _Please review._


	58. Blood

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _Violence to be had in great detail, among other things. You are warned._

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Eight: Blood**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Gwen barely had time to think before another uruk-hai was on top of her, bearing down with a grizzly weapon that looked as though if it didn't kill outright, the infection it would cause surely would. She reacted instinctively by ducking the broad, heavy stroke, but she didn't a vicious blow to her torso that sent her sprawling heavily into the stone. Instinctively knowing the uruk-hai would not wait to chop a limb off her, she rolled across the parapet, narrowly avoiding a downward jab into her kidneys. Burningstar in hand, Gwen hooked her foot around her enemy's calf, tugging with all her might to throw him off balance. Her strength was not enough by a long shot, but when the massive creature ducked to avoid an arrow passing overhead, his own body weight sent him down with the force of a chopped tree. _The bigger they are..._

His fall gave her the time she needed to regain her bearings. Gwen scrambled up onto her feet as the uruk-hai did, and her only advantage was that she held a blade and he did not. He jumped athletically out of the path of her first strong swing, but caught a glancing blow across the forearms as she returned. Feinting a jab right, he fell for it quite easily, and left his side exposed for her strike. With as much strength as she could muster, Gwen shoved Burningstar up into the uruk-hai's gut, the blade passing through his diaphragm up into his lung, slashing all sorts of blood-carrying vessels in the process. Black orc blood gushed down her blade, quickly coating her hands. With a bellow of rage, the uruk-hai toppled over, dying within moments.

Breathing heavily, Gwen assessed her situation. _Find Aragorn. Find Aragorn,_ she chanted. But in the chaos and misty haze surrounding the Deeping Wall, it was all but impossible to see anyone below. To her horror, she saw just how wounded Helm's Deep was. The explosion that had rocked the Hornburg had blasted a gaping hole into the protective Deeping Wall, Helm's Deep's first line of defense, allowing the enemy easy entrance into the keep. With it breached so completely, the battle was obviously turning. Uruk-hai streamed into the fortress, easily overwhelming the Rohirrim forces that fought along the parapets and in the valley.

All along the wall, the call to retreat was going up, and all over, men and elves alike were being cut down by the invading horde. The Rohirrim were _losing_. It was everything she feared, coming to life before her eyes. Catching sight of a mad tangle of uruk-hai and elves fighting along the parapets a good deal away from her, Gwen decided all she could do was lend a hand. She may not make or break the battle's outcome, but she would rather die fighting up on the walls than down in the caves like animals in a cage. Thoughts of Éowyn and the other women and children waiting defenseless below her made Gwen's resolve harden, and without further thought she took off for the mad tangle of battle being fought below her.

Though many Rohirrim had retreated to the inner walls of Helm's Deep, this group of men and elves had been waylaid by uruk-hai and cut off, forcing them to fight for every inch of ground. To her surprise, Gwen caught sight of the Marchwarden of Lórien within the fray, fighting with a macabre grace, and easily cutting down his enemies. He, and the other fighters, were stretched thin along the gaping chasm created by the explosion, and Gwen could see they were fighting a losing battle. From up on the parapet, there wasn't much she could do without potentially injuring an ally; ruefully, she glanced down at her bow, wishing she could use it instead of Burningstar.

 _I don't think I'll ever get used to close combat._ But, how would she get down to them? Gwen was currently a dozen feet above them. She looked for a way down, and found none. A rising thrill of fear zinged in her blood as she realized she would have to jump down to reach them quickly. _Oh fuck me sideways._ Middle Earth, it seemed, would hold nothing but challenge for her.

Still, she knew what she had to do, so she would damn well do it, come hell or high water. Surveying the masses of uruk-hai, she weighed her chances of success. Then, with a hoarse battle cry that was lost in the rumble of a thousand growls and grunts of uruk-hai and human soldier alike, Gwen took a running charge _off_ the parapet walls and leaped with as much power as she could muster. She dropped like a stone onto three charging, maddened uruk-hai, sending them all to the ground.

The drop took Gwen's breath away, but her adrenaline was running high and she felt no pain as a result. Vaguely she was aware of someone shouting her name, but she had no time to look. She scrambled to her feet, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the next wave of invading uruk-hai. A gruesomely bloody foe took a swing at her as she rose, nearly taking her head. And elven long-blade saved her skin, jabbing the creature through the chest from the side, causing the uruk-hai to lose all interest in her.

Rising to full height, more steady now, Gwen brought Burningstar up without a thought, driving the faintly glowing blade through the thick, hard skull that loomed over her. Given the arc of her swing it was not nearly as difficult as she anticipated. _Or maybe that's just Burningstar._ The elvish blade was a constant source of surprise for her. Her rescuer, Haldir, glanced with surprise at her, and Gwen noted the approval of her in his eyes. There was no time for words, however, as a fresh wave of uruk-hais was upon them again, and they were caught up in vicious, relentless fighting.

 _"Retreat!_ To the keep! _Na barad!_ " A visceral part of Gwen recognized Aragorn's voice calling for retreat, but stuck as she was surrounded by uruk-hais, falling back was all but impossible. Haldir, too, was too hemmed in along the battlements to retreat, though he, too, had surely heard the order. With widened eyes Gwen realized the Marchwarden had left his right side open to attack, which the uruk-hais were charging to take advantage of. Without aid, he might be surprised by the attack and overwhelmed.

" _Haldir!"_ She cried, trying gain his attention. But he was struggling to kill his current enemy, and could not spare a moment to even glance her way. Her cry had gained the attention of Aragorn as well, who was fighting his way toward their group, still crying out for retreat and pushing Rohirrim and elves toward the main keep roughly as he went. He didn't seem surprised to see her, but afraid for her. _I'm sorry, Aragorn,_ Gwen thought, wishing she could tell him aloud. _I couldn't stay away knowing you guys could be killed up here. I just want to be here._ When his eyes widened perceptibly, and his mouth moved to cry out a warning to her, she knew a deadly blow was eminent.

Whirling as quickly as she could, Gwen kept Burningstar at midlevel, to protect her most vital organs, and was able to repel a glancing swing to her left. Her right, however, was left exposed, and she earned a slash into her arm as result. Twin pains shot through her as the vibration from her left jarred her healing shoulder, and the new, fresh pain from the gash in her arm reached her awareness. Jaw clenched, Gwen shoved the pain away, stabbing and hacking with no finesse at all to the uruk-hai who had attacked her and been repelled. The other, wielding a blade striped red with her blood, had already been shot dead by an arrow between his eyebrows. _Legolas._

She knew without looking who had saved her life. Glancing down at her new injury, she saw that the gash, while deep, was not life-threatening. Her friend's accuracy and swiftness had prevented a much more serious wound. Grateful to still have her arm, Gwen remembered her original purpose, and swung back to find Haldir on his knees, clearly wounded, an uruk-hai at his back mockingly. Aragorn was nearly to him, yelling and hacking through his enemies with the fierceness of a berserker.

Blood whetted her tunic and jerkin, making it stick to her skin, but Gwen paid no mind to it. She and Aragorn reached the fallen elf at the same time, their blades meeting with a ringing clang as they severed his uruk-hai attacker's head from either side. Black blood pumped from either side of his carotid as he fell, spraying gruesomely around their feet. Haldir was slumped over, but not laying prone, clearly in pain. He was not, however, dead, and that comforted her. His wound was dire; a deep slash had laid open his side from right breast to hip, curving over the lean muscle that protected some of his most vital organs: kidney, lung, and stomach.

In a surreal moment, it seemed as if Aragorn was going to leave the Marchwarden on the field in favor of retreat, but Gwen knew she could never do it, and without sparing the ranger a glance, she sheathed Burningstar and knelt to the elf's side. Blood trickled down a gash on his brow, and he gasped when she slid a shoulder beneath his on his wounded side. "Leave me," he gasped. "There are...too many." Gwen shook her head, lifting his surprisingly bulky form from the ground with every ounce of strength she had remaining. Her knees shook and nearly gave way, making Gwen fear she could not move him at all alone.

"Come on, elf," she panted. Haldir tried to help her, but he was rapidly weakening from blood loss. Together they got him to his feet. Harrowing minutes passed as they stood, Gwen shaking under the heavier-than-expected weight of the Marchwarden, who had slumped against her slight form. Arrows volleyed overhead and still, uruk-hai advanced. _There are so many!_ Aragorn protected them fiercely, hacking at three more uruk-hai before he bent to aid her. "Thank you," she breathed, as the elf's weight was taken from her.

Together they rushed towards the relative protection of the keep, where Legolas and Gimli were fighting. They seemed to be counting their kills in yet another round of the ongoing battle between them. When they reached the keep, Aragorn placed Haldir down against a wall, where he slumped. Gwen crouched down, cradling his face. "Stay with me," she commanded. The last thing she wanted was for him to die. His eyes fluttered rapidly, telling her he was losing consciousness.

This hall was too crowded for her purposes, and the last thing she wanted was for Galadriel's most prized warrior – her effing Marchwarden, to die when she could have prevented it. "We've got to move him," she stressed to Aragorn before standing to full height. "Please," Gwen pleaded. "Through here." She gestured down the narrow corridor, into the inner keep and away from the main gate. Gwen knew it wouldn't be long before the uruk-hai were banging on it, demanding entrance to the keep with force. Aragorn gave her a look that clearly said he thought it was for naught, but she stubbornly waited for him to do as she asked.

With a sigh, he wrestled the unconscious Marchwarden up and over his shoulder before making his way into less congested, open space. Gwen made to follow him but was suddenly and unexpectedly jerked to a halt and shoved into the stone wall behind her roughly, jarring her shoulder. She groaned, glaring up at Éomer, who looked furious and unapologetic for his handling of her. "You dare to disobey _me,_ Gwendolyn," he groaned, his broad, strong body crowding hers forcefully and uncomfortably. It seemed he really hated to be disobeyed. "I told you to stay _in the caves_ ," he thundered. He towered over her by a mile.

Legolas and Gimli rushed in, taking in her position with shock. It rapidly turned to hostility, and both approached the violent scene with protests on their lips. "Release her!" Gimli growled lowly, looking ready to start swinging his axe at the man. Éomer swung his head around, his golden locks dripping sweat and slapping her face. He was too close, and she felt how rigid every muscle from his chest to his thighs had become at the interruption. "This does not concern you, _dwarf_ ," he hissed lowly, eyes slitted and glittering dangerously as they slanted towards the shorter male.

The way her blood was humming, Gwen felt two instinctive reactions to his handling of her: to fight him, or to fuck him, and knowing Haldir was gravely injured and needing someone, _anyone_ , to aid him made her choice clear. Jutting her chin out defiantly, Gwen bared her teeth at him and growled angrily, attempting to shove him out of her personal space so that she could walk away. He didn't budge. "Back the _fuck_ off," she spat, punctuating her words with a swift jab to his private areas, not feeling the slightest twinge of remorse when his beautiful leonine features twisted into a grimace of pain. "I have _too much shit_ to deal with right now," she growled. "And so do you." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn return, eying this new situation curiously and with a fair bit of trepidation.

It elated a primitive part of her to have kneed Éomer in the balls, but he was still boxing her in, and he was damn sure still pissed. To her surprise, he hadn't crumpled like she had seen every other man ever jabbed in the 'nads do. He just breathed through his pain like the seasoned warrior he was, his beautiful yellow-green eyes fiercely telling her without a shadow of doubt that she would pay hell for her actions. Thankfully, this time, when she pushed him away with as much force as she could, he moved a foot. Her heart thundered in her chest at his presence, but Éomer didn't remain there. He was pulled away by another soldier urgently, and as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone again.

Gwen breathed deeply, thankful that whatever conflict would come between them was avoided for now. Aragorn raised a brow at the relief clear on her features, and the hostility on Gimli's. Legolas merely looked curious and concerned. Exhausted and filthy, all she wanted was for this battle to be over, but she knew for them it was not.

"I know that you will not go back to the caves, _elen_ , but," Aragorn started wearily, only to be interrupted by Gwen softly, who said, "I am going to see what I can do about Haldir." Her arm was thankfully numb, probably due to the extra shot of adrenaline Éomer had just given her. _What an odd thing to be thankful for_. Gwen didn't question her maddened thoughts; she knew by now that battles always brought out such things within her. "I will be fine," she assured her friends.

They didn't look assured, but if she could have seen herself then Gwen would have understood. She looked a sight – covered in the black blood of her enemies, and the clear, deep red of her own. Her face was pale and wan, yet covered over in the cheeks with a red hue. It gave her a sickly look. Aragorn eyed her a moment, seeing the grim determination to be of help in her eyes. He grasped Gwen behind the neck in a comforting gesture, eyes warm. "I know you will be," he murmured. He pulled her into him, kissed her forehead, and released. "No more fighting," he said firmly, eyes demanding a promise. With a weak smile, Gwen nodded. Her three companions, her friends, were gone and back into the battle before she could blink twice.

She loved those three, Gwen acknowledged. _So much._ They _will be the death of me, for sure._ She was sure they felt the same about her right about now. With a small smile, Gwen turned and made her way down the hall to where Haldir waited, unconscious.

* * *

 _Please review._


	59. The Will To Live

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Will to Live**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

In the following hours she spent caring for Haldir, Gwen was all too aware of two things: the first was that the keep, protected as may have been, was shuddering and groaning with the force of the uruk-hais' pounding on the gates, and the second was that she had done this damned dance with death before.

She stood frozen in the doorway to the wider room, unable to shake the sense of heavy familiarity she felt as she watched the shallow rise and fall of the Marchwarden's chest as he lay against the wall where Aragorn had placed him. He was gravely injured, just as the Prince of Rohan had been, as Boromir had been, and so very alone. There were no other people around to be found, except for those who could be heard shouting orders through the stone walls occasionally. The elf had only her. Gwen shrank away from the memory of the long vigil she had held for the young royal on Éowyn's behalf; it had been a different sort of hell than she had ever encountered, and Gwen had been unable to help him at all. Théodred had clung so tenuously to life for that day and many after it, proving the will to live was indeed strong.

The dangerously seductive question of Haldir's own remaining time danced through her thoughts, and immediately Gwen cursed herself. The elf had saved her life, and even so, she was all but ready to write him off as a lost cause. Gwen berated herself for the gloom and doom thoughts. She knew all too well how strong the will to live ran through all people, and Gwen saw little reason elves would be any different. Of course, they lived forever except in these situations, so perhaps it was a little different. Still, she owed him big time. Gwen refused to give up on him so quickly.

Drawing her determination that he _would_ live around her like a cloak of steel, Gwen finally crossed into the makeshift infirmary to the proud elf's side, where she could see clearly that he was badly injured. Gwen inhaled deeply, seeing how bloody and torn his armor was across his side, and crouched down to the low pallet where Aragorn had placed his friend. Haldir's face was as serene as a still pool, showing no indication of pain or suffering.

Even near death, he looked ethereally beautiful and otherworldly, as if touched by some magical power. Gwen was struck in that moment by just how different elves were to men. Though he was clearly perspiring, Haldir did not look to be in obvious distress, which told her that his unconscious state was deep and whole – a supremely good thing. _Elves are blessed with a high degree of regenerative characteristics, Lady Gwendolyn,_ Lord Elrond's voice echoed in her memories, and to Gwen it felt as if it had been a thousand years since his last lecture on elvish healing had occurred. _If a battle wound does not send an elf to the Halls of Mandos outright, and he is able to fall into a healing sleep, it is possible to save that elf's life in the meantime._

So he was okay. For now.

But Gwen remembered how serious and stern Lord Elrond had been when he had told her that any elf could die from grave enough battle wounds regardless of their ability to heal more quickly, and Gwen knew that Haldir was certainly toeing that line. She watched his steady, shallow breathing with trepidation and a fair amount of genuine fear. _Sweet baby Jesus, don't let me kill this brave elf with... whatever I do._ Compared to healers like Lord Elrond and Éowyn, who was skilled in her own right, Gwen's own skills seemed rudimentary at best. _He's all you've got right now._ With a long breath, she reached for Haldir's armor tentatively, but stopped before her fingertips could brush his body. _Wait.._

It would be better to have all her supplies handy before she began to inspect his injury. A voice inside her spoke of cowardice, and perhaps that inner self was correct and she _did not_ , in fact, want to do this at all, but whatever her motivations, it was a logical decision. It was better to have the staples of such an undertaking readily at hand before she began. It could be she discovered his injuries were even greater than they looked from the outset, Gwen reasoned. Still, she hated to leave the helpless elf alone for even a second.

With a rueful glance at her patient, Gwen made up her mind and hastily made her way to her quarters to retrieve her pack. In it, there was a stack of fine linen strips that had been torn from a tunic or dress to be re-purposed into bandages, and her tin of heady, herb paste. Knowing her greatest need now was water, Gwen dug through her sack to find the heavy, bulbous water bladder she had carried with her since the Fellowship had departed from Rivendell. It did not hold much, but it would be enough to clean Haldir's wounds a bit.

 _Now just to find a way to heat it._ No one, unconscious or otherwise, wanted an icy sponge bath. Gwen glanced around the room, looking for anything that could help her. There were times that she missed very much the modern conveniences of Earth, and this was one of those times. Good, solid plumbing was hardly overrated, in her book. Alas, Middle Earth had not yet discovered the joys of hot water piped to a body in moments, and she would have to heat the water she had over the open fire. Spotting a battered cast-iron kettle shoved into the corner of one shelf, Gwen grabbed it triumphantly, and a moment later her drinking water was hovering over the fireplace, being warmed slowly by the flames.

Guiltily, Gwen remembered Haldir. It wasn't that she had forgotten him, really, it was only that her focus had not been on him. Yet she still felt guilt about her lack of attention toward him. All he had right now was her, such as _she_ was. With the keep shuddering under the battle frenzy going on within the bowels of the stone walls, Haldir needed her. It had been easy to turn her attention away, for even those minutes she had. He was as silent and as still as death, and nothing at all like the thrashing and moaning Théodred had done.

Carefully she removed the kettle from the fire, hoping that the water inside would not be too hot yet. She didn't want to add burns to the elf's injuries. Checking her supplies once more, Gwen knelt again at the Marchwarden's side, her breath puffing as she groaned when pain stabbed up her shoulder. _Damned slash_. Her blood had clotted around her tunic as it slowed, but the wound was throbbing and angry at her movements. Glancing down at her arm for a moment, she noticed grimly the wound was a good two inches deep, if not more so. She clearly needed stitches, but Gwen knew there was no way in hell she would survive sewing up her own arm. _No way, Jose._

She could barely work up the courage to touch Haldir. Shoring up her will, Gwen began the meticulously process of removing the elf's outer armor. As it turned out, elven platemail was light and strong, and finely layered. The pieces were tied together every centimeter or so in little tiny knots that were time-consuming to undo, and by the time she had gotten his epaulets over his shoulders, Gwen was ready to cut the elf's breastplate off to avoid having to undo the rest.

Luckily, the knots on that particular piece were larger and easier to undo, and the tight pieces that protected his biceps were already cut. Gwen assumed this had happened during the battle. Chucking the armor out of the way, Gwen inspected his large, lean form a moment before the keep's walls shuddered around her with a resounding _crash_ that sent her sprawling over the Marchwarden's body. "Oofph," she wheezed, trying to brace herself against anything but the elf. The unconscious elf did not stir, and Gwen shuddered. How would she know if she did something wrong if he was not able to make a sound? The thought unnerved her, but for a moment her concentration was broken as shouts filtered through the stone.

Resolutely Gwen refocused on the ailing elf, noting the curious dusky pale color his skin was turning. _Probably_ _from blood loss._ There was quite a bit of it soaked into his gray tunic and staining it nearly purple, though it obviously had slowed to a trickle. Remembering what Lord Elrond had once told her about moving a wounded patient in this situation, Gwen opted to cut his clothing off. Wielding a wicked-sharp blade, Gwen made quick work of the shirt he wore, dicing it into manageable pieces that she tossed into the fireplace.

Marble smooth skin dotted with minor cuts and bruises was revealed as she continued this process, but her focus was on the serious wound at his side. Once he was bare, she realized that he was flayed straight down the side of the bones of his ribs, and that there were more cuts to be found on his back. His skin dangled away from his body like a macabre costume, but it was not completely severed. The stark reality of his condition appalled her, and for a moment she doubted her ability to help him at all. Gwen gagged, and struggled not to puke as she noticed the white of his bones showing clearly through the torn flesh. Ruthlessly Gwen pulled her resolve to help the elf around her, like a cloak. _If Aragorn were here, he would be able to do this, and he knows Haldir better than I do._

She glanced up at the Marchwarden's serenely calm, beautiful features. If he had the will to live, then she would find the will to do what needed to be done. Gwen struggled to remember what Lord Elrond had said about these kinds of wounds. The skin would scar a great deal even if she did a meticulous job stitching him back up, but the muscle fibers would knit back together eventually and heal. So, it was a very good thing Haldir still had this flesh attached. _Open wounds are nearly always fatal, Lady Gwendolyn,_ Elrond had told her gravely. He had also told her that gushing wounds meant more extensive damage.

Blood was still flowing from the Marchwarden's wounds at an oozing trickle, but it was not a spray or jet that would have alarmed her. She opted first to deal with what she could see and then continue to what she could not, even as she saw the red stains on the pallet where he lay. Praying the keep did not fall down around her ears as she worked, Gwen moved to the fireplace and sterilized a needle there before crossing back to the floor, where she threaded them with shaking hands. It took her about six tries, but what did that matter? She got it done.

Taking one last, calming breath that did not calm her at all, Gwen tentatively prodded his dangling flesh with the needle, waiting for him to cry out in pain. When he did not make a sound, she breathed out in relief and began to settle into a rhythm, pulling the needle in and out of the elf's skin in stitches as tiny and as close together as she could make them. More than once she was forced to stop and tie more thread, each strand longer than before.

Twice, the rhythm of Haldir's breathing stuttered, nearly sending her into a panic. His pulse remained thready, but constant, and that was something. _Don't die,_ she whispered to him more than once during those hours. The bloodiness of the job made it difficult to sew, but she was able to staunch the trickling flow with damp linens a bit, so she pressed on, despite the increasing tremble of the castle, and at one point, the clatter of hooves along the stone. Gwen wondered what was going on.

After a very long time spent hunching painfully over the elf, she was able to finish working on his side. It unnerved her that throughout the entire process he was as still and silent as a ghost, having made not a sound the entire time she was passing the needle back and forth through his flesh. Worried, Gwen decided now was the time to try and wake him. _But how?_ She did not have a clue; Lord Elrond had never told her that.

Her heart stopped when Haldir failed to breath. Seconds ticked by. "Haldir?" Heedless of her mess, she pressed close to him, trying to feel his chest move with his breathing. Nothing. His pulse was thready again, and she knew he was dying right there in front of her. _Holy shit, no._ Hands bloody, Gwen pulled away from the Marchwarden, tossing aside the damned needle. She didn't know CPR. All she could do was watch. _Some healer I am._ Gwen wished more than anything Lord Elrond was here in her place.

She received the shock of her life when Éowyn rushed inside the room in that moment, face alight with worry. Gwen stood wearily, passing a soft, sad look back to her friend. Éowyn's eyes widened as she took in Gwen's bloody hands, and her pale elvish patient, with his bloody, newly stitched side. With a quiet understanding and cool confidence, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan wordlessly knelt beside Haldir, and pressed a cool hand to his head.

Éowyn looked back at her. "Let me help you bind his wounds, Gwen," she said.

Gwen stared at her, agog and growing angry. "What does it matter? He's dying, isn't he?" she asked, voice tremulous. She had never been more angry, actually. It seemed like some kind of joke that the powers that be would put her in a position to help him and then force her to fail. Gwen had never expected to fail, and it was like a kick in the gut. _Haldir, I'm so sorry._ Tears welled in her eyes, but did not fall. She had tried her best. Éowyn saw her distress clearly, and was sympathetic, but what was more important now was the elf in front of her.

"It matters a great deal, Gwen. He is not dead _yet_." She was more harsh with the girl than she intended to be, and Gwen was a little taken aback at her tone. She sounded like her brother then. "Come, help me," Éowyn commanded sternly. Gwen reacted to that command even if she couldn't bear to do more harm to this elf. She knelt opposite of the other woman, who was unraveling bandages. "He has other injuries on his back, but I thought it would be better to work on his side first, so that he wouldn't have to be moved," Gwen informed her.

Éowyn nodded crisply. "I would have done the same." She pressed a linen strip to his side and pressed, eying the work Gwen had done. "You have neat stitches, Gwen," she murmured approvingly. "Help me turn him." With the shape his hip and side were in, he would tear stitches if they sat him upright, forcing the women to roll the linens around him piece by piece as they turn him left and right along the pallet. The slash that had nearly taken his flesh began just shy of his neck, and it was obvious from looking at it that he had only barely managed to keep his neck and arm.

"Gods, but this elf wants to live," Éowyn breathed as she looked at the injuries that were only half stitched and bandaged. Judging by the green in Gwen's face, she would not be able to complete the job, so Éowyn opted to herself stitch the long, deep furrow that ran the length of his back. When that was done, they bandaged him from neck to side, so that he looked fairly mummified. Gwen was relieved to note that he was breathing evenly, even if his pulse was still weak. She was grateful for Éowyn's help – her experience and knowledge had kept her nerves from fraying completely as they might have done had she not been there.

Sounds of voices streaming back into the keep became more clear as they turned their attention to each other rather than their patient. Gwen was curious about the battle's end, and worried for Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "What happened with the battle, do you know?" she asked. Éowyn glanced up from where she was wetting her hands with a damp, clean linen. Her eyes dimmed a little as she lost herself in thought.

"All I am aware of is that my uncle had retreated here, and things were dark, indeed," she replied. Éowyn glanced at Gwen with a faintly haunted look. "And that you needed me. That is all Éomer spoke of when he came to the caves." This bit of information startled Gwen. Éomer had been staunchly opposed to their leaving the caves before the battle ended. _Why would he send Éowyn out into danger just to help me?_ The answer was clear: Éomer had known Gwen would need his sister, and despite his upset with her, he had gone against himself to provide what she needed. Warmth suffused Gwen's weary bones. Wordlessly, the two women resumed their positions on either side of the elf, their only patient. The rumbling of the keep had stopped, Gwen noticed. _Perhaps the battle is ending.._

"It is so quiet," Éowyn whispered. As if sharing the same thought, her eyes met Éowyn's before sliding away to take stock of their meager supplies. Soon, they would have many, many more patients. In that moment she would have given anything to be out on the battlefield rather than in this room that soon would be filled with wounded, dying men. Unwilling to feel fear at the thought, Gwen swallowed and tried a weak smile. "Let's hope everything is alright out there."

* * *

 _Please review._


	60. A Return to Living

**Disclaimer:** See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 **M rating ahead, and graphically written. This is your warning, people; please don't read if you don't like.**

* * *

 **The Light Within**

 **Chapter Sixty: A Return to Living**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

For the ninth time in just under an hour, Gwen closed a dead man's eyes gently with bloody fingertips, feeling the bald scratch of tears against her throat. She was unable to cry, because he was only the latest in an endless, very long line of the dead. This man's blood coated her chest and forearms, from where his femoral artery had pulsed blood into the air as she struggled to seal the wound, to no avail. In the past day, Gwen had lost count of how many men she had seen die in a similar manner.

And it made her sick.

"This one's gone – get him out of here, please," she commanded a young soldier tersely. _No longer so young._ The weariness and haunted blankness in his eyes mirrored her own feelings, but the steady influx of wounded and dying Rohirrim and elves had yet to slow; she could not afford tears, or rest. She and Éowyn and a team of three young girls had been working nonstop since the battle's end to treat the wounded, never-minding that of them all, only the Shieldmaiden had any experience with this sort of triage. To make things even worse, the Éorlingas warriors who _were_ alive had begun to hold violent brawling tournaments amongst one another. Gwen threw down a red-soaked linen in disgust. _The battle's not even a day old and these men can't leave well enough alone._

It had become all but impossible to treat even the most minor injuries. Supplies were dangerously low, and for most, they simply could not be treated in time. There were not enough men and women with enough knowledge to aid them. _She_ was never supposed to have to do this. In high school Gwen had staunchly avoided all classes with the name "health sciences" in them. The real truth was, blood made her want to hurl. And here she was covered in a dead man's lifeblood. More than one man's. The irony was not lost on her.

Gwen's heart had long since grown heavy in the face of all this death, and was fast turning hard against the constant onslaught of suffering and death. More than once, the room spun in gleefully macabre fashion and made her feel so sick. Gwen watched with grim finality as the boy-turned-man lifted the dead soldier and carried him slowly from the room. The man would be buried in the hills beyond the keep, with little ceremony. That, in and of itself, was injustice enough.

There were too many dead against the walls, and all of them had died for the freedom of Rohan. Yet there would be no funeral. No mourning, at least not yet. Gwen watched the boy struggle with the weight of the dead on his shoulder, barely flinching at the allegory the image presented to her. She was numb inside. "That one was Hamá, Éowyn," she called dully. The Shieldmaiden raised her head, startled, from where she had been stitching a man's arm back together. Her eyes, too, reflected weariness and a deep sadness.

"Oh, Hamá..." she murmured, eyes welling helplessly. Gwen turned away, not out of cold indifference, but because she had no choice. The tenuous hold she had on her control was slipping, and seeing her friend weep would surely break it. Her spirit was crying out for... _life._ She needed to get out of here. Breathing rapidly, Gwen fought for control, barely registering when Legolas called her name from the entrance of the room. She had barely spoken to any of her friends since the battle ended, and the worry she felt as a result only added to her burden.

 _"Elen_?" The elf's hand fell onto her stiffened shoulder in concern when she did not reply, causing Gwen to jump frightfully. Turning, he barely had time to register the relief and happiness in her eyes before she leaped into his arms, stopping a hairsbreadth from him ruefully. Legolas' keen senses of smell and sight picked up on the why of it: she was covered in blood and filth. After a moment she pulled back, staring him in the face with dull eyes. "Oh, Legolas..." she breathed. Her gaze broke away from his, roving the wounded and dying men around them with infinite exhaustion, and surprisingly, very little emotion.

Legolas noted with concern the deep groves of stress between her brows, and the curve of her drooping shoulders. Gwen was...dimmed. A fragment of herself. Still, Aragorn had sent him to find her, and retrieve her, and he would. "Is everyone...alright?" She breathed, nearly choking on the words. Legolas nodded, wanting to quickly assure his little friend that they were fine. "Gimli earned a blow to the head for his trouble in the battle, but is otherwise fairing well, _elen._ " He paused, watching her carefully for signs of distress. She rolled her shoulders, obviously aching and tired. They all were weary.

Apologetically, blue-gray eyes met green. "Aragorn sent me to find you, a nearly impossible task in this mess," he replied with a hint of a smile. The whole of Helm's Deep was reeling from their very near defeat under the onslaught of thousands of terrifying uruk-hai. Gwen nodded, unthinkingly wiping a bloody hand through her tangled, hastily pulled back locks of hair. Remembering herself, Gwen pulled her hand back with a scowl. " _Fuck_ ," she hissed, wiping her hand along her filthy tunic.

Irritation and something darker skittered along her gaze, but she turned to follow him with a nod. "Let's go." Without another word, she stepped stiffly out of the room without a look back. Legolas caught the Lady Éowyn's gaze before he turned to follow his burdened friend, and the Éorlingas woman nodded her understanding. Leaving her patient's side, where the thread of her work dangled freely, she crossed to the elven prince's side quickly, placing a hand upon his forearm urgently. Her eyes, he noted, were weary and sad, but she did not carry the heavy emptiness his Gwen's did.

Understanding passed between them, and Éowyn murmured, "Get her to sleep, somehow, would you?" Legolas inclined his head, preparing to speak, but the golden woman released him and turned back to her patient. With a final look around the sick room, Legolas went after Gwen, hoping he did not lose her in the masses.

* * *

Aragorn could see immediately Gwen was not well.

She greeted him with relief, yes, but there was not the same fire in her eyes, nor the smile he was so used to seeing across her features. Only a smooth mask of cold indifference. He had seen such a visage upon many a warrior out of their first battle, but he knew she had fought before. Had seen good men die before. It had never affected her so strongly. What had happened to her? Seeing Gimli upon the bed, unconscious, had cracked the icy wall around her somewhat, but still, Gwen was withdrawn from them. He didn't like it one bit.

She knelt at the bedside, feeling Gimli's wounds and the knots upon his skull. "I think he's got a concussion," she murmured softly, feeling around his neck. "I don't really know what to feel for, but there's no puffiness or anything to suggest a break." She caressed his coarse red hair gently, unthinkingly, and met Aragorn's eyes. "He should be okay," Gwen decided, but she really did not know, and couldn't begin to turn her mind to the possibility that he would not be. Her control slipped again, and ruthlessly she pulled herself back together.

Aragorn watched her keenly, not knowing how to reach the girl. Aragorn had wanted to see her, to assure himself that she was alright, but in seeing her Aragorn was only more worried. A wound crusted with blood lay open to the bone on her arm, but when he tried to look at it, Gwen shied away from him, unable to meet his concerned gaze. " _Elen."_ His voice was gentle, but lined with steel. He forced her to still as he inspected it.

Éomer's massive body filled the doorway unexpectedly, and she stiffened in Aragorn's arms. He looked as if he had been brawling, and his eyes were brilliant with an unholy light that made her feel so..dead in comparison. The sight of him standing there, gloriously healthy and whole, hurt. _I really can't deal with this right now._ "Let me go," she muttered. The last thing she needed was Éomer's dominating presence. He was too demanding...too real...too alive for her fragile control to handle. He would almost certainly break down every wall she erected to protect herself, and Gwen would not be able to handle the flood of emotion that would follow. "Excuse me," she murmured, uncaring that she was fleeing.

The horse lord obviously had been looking for her, because he did not speak to Legolas or Aragorn at all. His attention was fully with _her_ , and like her friends, he could see clearly the suffering she felt. His heart, too, was heavy and tired, but he was far more experienced than the little woman. Though he had gone looking for her, intending to punish her for her earlier treatment, Éomer could see that whatever verve she possessed had fled her spirit, leaving her fragile and vulnerable in its absence. The solemn desolation in her eyes spoke volumes, and worried him. He had seen too many good men and women fall victim to the horrors of war, and it was an endless pit that a person might never crawl out of.

In those moments, as it looked as if her friends would allow her to leave, Éomer placed himself in front of her exit, blocking her retreat effectively. He would not allow her to be alone with her dark thoughts, even if he knew he was entirely the wrong person for the job. Even now, the battle fury still rode him hard, burning his blood and making him want the comfort of a woman. Still, if her friends could not reach her, he would. Somehow.

"Please, excuse me, Lord Éomer," she whispered lowly in an exquisitely polite, controlled voice. The sound of it infuriated him, made him want to shake her out of the stupor she was in. It affected him on a deeply primal level to see her like this. "No," he growled, trying his best to remain gentle with her. At the same time, she explained, "Your sister needs me with the wounded." She went to sidestep him again, and again he blocked her with his bulk. Éomer disagreed wholeheartedly, and opened his mouth to tell her no again, but Aragorn interrupted him. " _Elen,_ you need rest," the Ranger said gently. "You are swaying on your feet." His voice was far more soft than Éomer's own, and for a moment the horse lord cursed his own rough, abrasive nature.

Still, he could not change himself even for Gwen's fragility. When she did not respond to Aragorn, Éomer cursed inwardly. Blowing a breath out through his nose, he nodded over Gwen's shoulder to the Ranger. An understanding passed between the two men then, as if to say, _you try,_ and before she had time to protest his actions, Éomer picked Gwen up into his arms and turned to leave the company of her friends. Almost immediately Gwen protested and began to beat and squirm against him. Her weak movements were nothing against his own strength, and he did not stifle them. He was glad she felt strongly enough to try to fight him.

To goad her, he said, "You need a bath; you stink." In truth, he did as well, but Gwen was too caught up in herself to notice. He was still clad in his mail and leather armor, and covered in filth from the battle. Immediately following his taunt, she began to spit curses at him rapid-fire, most of whom he could not understand. Éomer turned down a wide, deserted corridor, making his way to the spring-fed sauna laid down by the ancient King of Rohan, Helm Hammerhand. It was built in the bowels of the keep, and maintained by the natural springs that ran through the Glittering Caves.

Despite his efforts otherwise, Gwen's body against his own caused a most natural reaction in a man: he grew hard and long against her. Feeling his arousal there, she began to spew vile things at him, the clearest of which was that he was a "Vile pig." His own temper began to ignite then; after all, no man could be blamed for such a natural reaction to a woman. Reaching the sauna doors, he shouldered one open and entered the steaming, warm rooms, allowing the doors to swing closed behind them. The dimness of the room was broken only by the numerous fire-pits that dotted the perimeter and heated the pools.

He placed Gwen on her feet, and she nearly sent herself to her ass as she pushed away from him in anger at the same time. Éomer steadied her, but she jerked away from him, and he could plainly see the disgust in her features. "There are men and boys, dead, laying piled a hundred high outside this keep, and all you're concerned with is...is..fighting! And _sex_?" She spat at him, and hit his chest. The _thump_ of her hands upon him couldn't even be felt through all his armor. "Is that why I'm here? You fucking pig," she spat the words. _Ahh, so that is the source of her burden._ _Éomer now understood; she was struggling to feel something._ _Anything._ Still, understanding her pain did not keep his own anger from igniting.

The slow burn of desire in his belly twisted with it, and he crossed his sinewy forearms across his chest to watch her with narrowed eyes as she paced like a wild she-wolf across the stone, unaware of his rising emotion. Indeed, she seemed unaware of everything but her own thoughts. The heat of the sauna seemed to affect her, if the sweat pool along her brow was any clear indication, but she did not seem to acknowledge its source even as she wiped her face. It pleased Éomer to see emotion in her eyes, even if the revulsion and anger there fueled his own fire.

Even covered in filth she was beautiful to him. Despite his uncle's caution, Éomer was not sure he would ever get her out of his blood. One day with her was not enough. "I am no pig, Gwendolyn," he purred from his place against the wall, growing more sensuous with each passing second. "Simply a man. Any one of those dead warriors outside would feel the same desire as I do, in my place," Éomer taunted deliberately, risking her wrath. _Gods_ , but he wanted her. He was growing distracted by the sheen of wetness on her lip. "It is only natural that death and battle would cause those who live to reaffirm their life with fighting, and yes, fucking." His eyes gleamed in the dimness of the room, animalistic and unholy.

"Perhaps you are feeling the same thing, Gwendolyn, and you do not want to admit it."

* * *

Gwen stared at Éomer, aghast at his unbelievable accusation.

The anger boiling her blood blew up into a full on rage. " _How dare you_ ," she rumbled gutturally as she lost all control, her whole body shaking with the force of her rage. Where she had been growing numb and cold before, now her entire body was thrumming with life – with hot fury. She had to relax her hands, which she had curled unconsciously into claws with which to tear out his smirking, knowing eyes.

He seemed to gain a fair bit of pleasure from her reaction, because his gaze settled on her with unholy delight. Éomer uncoiled his sinuous body from the wall, straightening to full, intimidating height before her and began a slow, sensual stalk towards her. "You feel I am wrong?" he taunted, gleaming muscles rolling under dirty armor as he pressed forward. Without realizing it, she found herself bumping backwards into some kind of stand that held towels. The horse lord continued at his slow, unceasing pace, trying to intimidate her with his indolent display of raw power. And his eyes. _Gods, but he's taunting me. And he's wrong!_ _Gwen wanted nothing more than to be alone._ _Liar,_ _her inner voice whispered._

When he moved close enough to touch her, she met his eyes defiantly. "You are sick," she spat deliberately, trying to force him away. The _last_ thing she wanted was to have sex with him. Not only was it a disgrace to herself, but it was disrespectful to the men who died here. Anger began to show in his gaze, now, mixing with his clear desire. His hand shot out to grasp her small breast, and she was ashamed to discover her nipples were as hard as pebbles. "Stop it," she growled lowly, batting his hand away. "Even if I did want you, _" which she did_ , "I wouldn't have you again," she spat, trying to drive him away from her and out of her space. Still, he came even closer, that massive, body crowding hers against the wall.

Éomer seemed to know that she was lying. With one hand braced upon the wall beside her head, his shaggy head bent close to her mouth, making her gasp at the fierce reaction his nearness caused in her. His woodsy, masculine scent was driving her crazy, and her entire body throbbed with need. Still, the images of the dead flashed before her eyes, and she cried out, trying to shove him away from her. Not unexpectedly, he did not move away; Éomer's mass was too great, and she was too small in comparison. His eyes found hers and trapped her with his leonine, sharply intelligent gaze; it seemed to her that he could read her every thought with those eyes.

He was sending her up in flames she didn't want to feel. The numbness was easier – better – than the white hot emotions that were rolling inside her. "I know what it is you are feeling, Gwendolyn," he murmured, cupping her neck and jaw with one broad palm. That one hand could snap her neck like a twig, but he was gentle. "It is not sick," he continued, dipping his lips to her shoulder to kiss and suckle at the sensitive places there. His touches were electrifying. Gwen was loosing herself in him, but she found that it erased the heart-wrenching pain of the last days. _He's wrong! I didn't feel anything until he forced this on me!_ Still, Gwen found she could not deny his words aloud.

Unexpectedly, her will to resist broke entirely. Gwen sighed, giving herself over to whatever brand of healing he could provide, even if it was _just sex_. He seemed to sense her acquiescence, because he drew her body into the haven of his own, flush against the heavy muscle of his frame. She expected him to kiss her, but instead, he skipped her mouth altogether and swooped in to her neck, placing light kisses and licks there. "Your body burns," he murmured. Her hands roamed his bulky, strong body, delighting in the firmness she found. Wanting the all-encompassing pleasure she had known before, she grasped at his heavy, thick erection through his breeches.

Éomer refused to give up control, and reached down to take her hand away, instead pining it to the wall beside her head. Vaguely, Gwen registered the pain from her wound, but it was lost in the growing heat inside her. "Slow, little filly," he crooned darkly with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming. "You will have me soon enough." He reached down with his free hand to untie her breeches. She made a sound of protest that he paid no mind to, instead continuing the tortuous trek across her skin with his talented mouth. It was good – exquisite – pleasure, but still the memory of dead, blue eyes haunted her whenever she closed her own. Éomer kept her pinned and unable to move with his body, and she grew frustrated with his slow, sensual pace.

With a frustrated growl, she moaned out, "If I can't have you _now,_ Éomer, let me up so I can go find someone I can." Her words forced him up, then, and he looked down upon her in shock and rising anger that warred with his clear and obvious desire. Gwen herself was shocked at her own wantonness, but the desolate need within her that he had awakened strained against her, wanting to be filled. With a low rumble of sound, Éomer tore the tunic she wore from neck to breast, ripping it from her body with an air of violence to bare her to his greedy eyes.

Knowing she had spurred him into that rough action with her words, Gwen eagerly dropped her breeches, carrying not a whit in that moment that she was acting like a common whore – she _needed_ this. Her boots did not allow her legs to spread enough to fit him, so with an impatient growl of his own, he bent swiftly to her feet to remove her shoes. For one surreal moment Gwen watched his golden head move at her waist, as his taut motions ripped off the offending garments and left her bare to his – _her –_ pleasure.

He rose smoothly to tower over her completely yet again, reminding Gwen of the great disparity between their heights. She barely reached the dark hair on his pectoral muscles, and to meet his eyes, she had to crane her neck far back. Totally naked save for one leg of her breeches, Gwen reached for the warm strength that was Éomer, wanting him as close as possible. She groaned in anticipation as he lifted her into his arms effortlessly, tearing the last of her garment away. Meeting his ferociously aroused gaze, she knew he was angry with her.

True to everything he was, Éomer disliked the idea of her with another man. He disliked the idea of them not doing _this_ _together_ _._ Inwardly he cursed their circumstances, that forced them apart. Her careless taunts had driven him to be less gentle with her than he had wanted, and it gave her a wicked thrill to know it. Without words, he probed her core with his blunt, long fingers, measuring her readiness for him. He removed them and aligned their bodies, careless of his clothing pressed against her. Gwen had no fear of being dropped; Éomer held her easily with one sinewy, strong arm, and the other braced them against the wall. Time seemed to stretch infinitely as she waited for him to enter her.

"Wrap your legs around me, Gwendolyn," he commanded deeply. She did as he said, and the first inches of him slipped inside her. She moaned at the feeling of being stretched just so. Yellow-green eyes clashed with hers, and a moment later, Éomer stabbed his way home – roughly. Pleasure warred with pain as he stretched her with his wide girth, but he did not give her time to adjust; instead, he braced her arms over his shoulders and began to set a furious rhythm, ruthlessly pounding in and out. Exquisite feeling tore through her nerves, invading her senses and driving her to heights she couldn't seem to return from.

It was a furious coupling, exactly what she wanted – fast and hard. Her orgasm barreled up on her, and before she had time to catch her breath from each thrust, she found herself crashing into pleasure, keening with it, and delighting in the hard planes of Éomer's body that trapped her so deliciously against the warm stone. Her nails cored his back, but neither took any notice. It was so hot in the room, and misty, that their bodies were soon slick with perspiration, but Éomer's hard grip never wavered. As her second orgasm rose up to take her, Éomer shifted them, moving her with seemingly no effort. He lifted her off his cock, a movement she protested, and moved to bend her over the towel stand.

When he entered her from behind, the new angle sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, and instinctively she pressed back, trying to take as much of him as she could. From his position over her, Éomer felt a wave of clear possessive instinct crash over him. _She is mine._ His mind created the words even as his rational side rebuked them. Still, the idea made him rougher still, determined that she feel his claim even as he would never say it. His cock bumped her cervix and sent a twinge of genuine pain through her. He pulled out and thrust strongly back in with a grunt. His motions brought her off her feet completely, and her body was completely supported by his own and the stand, and still he pounded into her without halting.

Gwen flew apart again and again as his cock milked her to exhaustion, and still Éomer did not let himself go. He seemed intent on wearing her down completely. After long minutes and one endless orgasm rolled after another, Gwen grew limp, causing Éomer to twist her back up into his arms in one seamless, athletic movement that forced his cock even farther inside her. Gwen tensed and squeaked weakly; she was pinned to him as deeply as he could go. She was as limp as a rag doll, as wrung out from pleasure as she thought she could ever be, but he was still hot, hard, and throbbing inside her. Her sweaty locks brushed his chest as she laid her head against his beating heart. "Gwendolyn." His voice caressed her. Éomer had stopped moving and was holding her tenderly, like a lover. She raised her head to meet his eyes, and saw that all his anger had fled, leaving behind something wild and fierce in his gaze. Without words, he dipped his own dripping-wet head to hers to kiss her with infinite gentleness.

In that moment, she was lost to him.

* * *

 _Please review._


	61. Aftermath

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-One: Aftermath**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

Gwen's heartbeat was returning to normal, as was her breathing.

She had never looked at sex as being cathartic, but damn if she did not feel better. Her arm hurt like hell, and she smelled like pure shit, but Gwen _felt_ better. Not so overwhelmed with death and the dead. More alive. She lay on the damp stone, her body all but jellied by the pleasure she had shared with Éomer, and if the force of his own orgasm was any indication, he was feeling the same. Gwen shrank away from thoughts of feelings, knowing that in those moments, something inside her had been given over to him, never to be returned.

"We have _got_ to stop doing this," she said, half joking. Her words reverberated in the silence of the room, ringing with a strange, sad truth. _She could never have more._ Wasn't that the truth of this strange relationship? This was all temporary. Saddened on a visceral level, Gwen turned her head toward Éomer, who was covering his eyes with one brawny forearm, laying silent on the tile floor. At her words, he moved to look at her a moment before he sat up, tucking himself into his clothing as he went. Silence dominated the room as Éomer studied her solemnly, taking in the sight of her, laying naked and open to his gaze. The chemistry between them was explosive, but they couldn't afford to build anything more emotional. Already he felt too strongly for the young woman. He sighed heavily.

"Yes, we do, Gwendolyn," Éomer murmured gently, yellow-green eyes meeting hers without a trace of emotion, when all he really wanted to do was cradle her to his chest and keep her there. _She should be yours_ , something inside him proclaimed and yet, he knew it wasn't to be listened to. "What is between us," he began heavily, using all his warrior stoicism to speak, "This is all it will ever be. You know that?" Gwen did, she really did. Her emotions were a chaotic whirl, though, and she had no true experience to draw from.

All she knew for certain is that he had his duty, and she had hers. She did not reply to his confirmation, and grew lost in her thoughts, only to be pulled from them by Éomer's fingers upon her cheek. "I care for you a great deal," he said gently. Gwen met his gaze tremulously. "But my uncle," he paused then, and added, _"And I_ expect to marry a woman of Rohan, or of Gondor, at least. I find myself unwilling to fight this duty." His eyes were solemn when they met hers again.

Gwen's heart twisted painfully even as she recognized it as truth. She wanted him to tell her something entirely different. It was good, however, that they were getting all this out now, before she really lost her heart. The intense moment of love she had felt just minutes ago faded as reality crowded in. Éomer was watching her with a guarded gaze, as if he expected her to fight him. But she wouldn't.

Her first duty was to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. After the war...then she would think about marriage. A pang of realization hit her as Gwen remembered that she would be utterly alone on that day. All her family, Jessie – they were gone. It made this conversation all the more hard. _You can't afford this connection, Gwen. It will only hurt you._ She swallowed, and Éomer's hand fell away. "I understand," she smiled tentatively, heart beating heavily in her chest.

"Really, I do," Gwen said, seeking to reassure him. "You are the heir to the throne of Rohan...and I'm…" She trailed away, unable to speak under the force of emotion she felt. _A lost girl from California just trying to find a place in this world._ But she didn't tell him that. She only traced the puckered lines on her body to distract herself, drawing his eyes to them. "How did you earn those marks, Gwendolyn?"

It was the first time he had thought to ask her about them, and she answered honestly, "I fought a bad man, once. Well, I thought he was a man. It turns out he wasn't, really. Very nearly lost," she continued, lifting one corner of her mouth ruefully, unwilling to discuss her past further. "They are old." Éomer seemed to consider her for a moment before nodding. By his thinking, they made her even more beautiful to him – they showed her bravery. Still, he had to turn his mind away from her if he was to ever fulfill sworn duty to his lands. "Gwendolyn, I am sorry." Éomer truly sounded sorry.

She smiled through her sadness, hoping the big warrior did not notice. She let out a breath heavily. "This is for the best." Éomer seemed to understand that they had said all that needed to be said, and with a final, long look at her, he rose, levering his big body up and away from her. He stared down at her from his great height advantage, saying, "I will send Éowyn to help you with your arm. It needs stitches." He turned away from her then, but stopped at the door. "Be well, Gwendolyn," he rumbled. And he was gone.

Gwen closed her heart to the pain she felt, and, after a moment, wiped the few tears that tracked her face away before rising to grab the bathing materials she would need to clean herself. A memory rose in her mind, of a day in Lórien. Gwen had been bathing, like she was about to do now, and Boromir had intruded upon her privacy. The sincere kindness he had offered her in the conversation that followed was the first she had ever encountered by a man other than her father. She touched her scarred sides again. _God, but I use to be so afraid for anyone to ever see them._

She use to define herself by the experience that had come with them. _No more._ Gwen entered the warm spring pool with a groan, feeling so tired, and so ready for _good_ news. She reclined against the smooth tile, and closed her eyes. The faces of those she cared about rose in her mind's eye. Boromir. Samwise. Merry. Pippin. Frodo. They had been added to the list of those she might never see again, and Gwen wanted to weep with missing them. It made her angry, that emotion. What had happened to her life, that she no longer missed common conveniences like tampons and cell phones, and suddenly found herself wanting arrogant Gondorians and silly hobbits instead there instead? Had she changed so much? When had Middle Earth become home in her mind, if not her heart?

Except, it wasn't, not really. She had no home, not like Éowyn had a home, and Legolas and even Gimli. She was like...Aragorn. A drifter, with no true place to plant roots. Her musings were broken by the sauna door opening to reveal the golden Sheildmaiden of Rohan, Éowyn. Though the heat of the room was making her sleepy, Gwen smiled in welcome, ruefully realizing she had yet to bathe. "Give me a moment," she said, picking up a thick cake of plain soap to scrub her skin, and seeing the stark contrast the white of it made on her filthy skin. "I seem to have forgotten to wash," she finished with a genuine smile for her friend. Éowyn took in her smooth face, and noted the changes in her posture and demeanor happily. Deliberately, she ignored the marks of sex upon her friend's body, even as she knew it was her brother who put them there.

Whatever Éomer had done for her friend, she could see that Gwen felt better, and would continue to be okay through this war. She was more steady. _Thank you, brother_ , she whispered to herself. "There is no trouble, Gwen," she smiled warmly, "The need for all haste is past us tonight," she said. _Thankfully._ The unspoken word hovered in the air between them, and the women shared a knowing look that did not need words.

As Gwen bathed, the two women sat in companionable silence, glad for the moment's quiet after such a hectic day. Gwen's mind turned to Hamá, the door-gaurd of Edoras, with whom Éowyn had been close. "I am sorry about Hamá," she whispered sadly, letting the washcloth splash in the water and fall to the pool's floor. Éowyn looked a little startled at the sudden conversation, but she met Gwen's eyes with her own, serious and solemn. "His death is not your fault, Gwen," she said firmly.

"None of the men who died did so by our hands." She crouched close to the edge of the pool to drive her point home, eyes grim and knowing. "Listen to me. Do not allow this war to scar you so deeply. Hamá will be remembered for his kindness to me, and you, my friend, will be remembered for your great courage and perseverance, not for failing to work miracles." Éowyn's eyes twinkled with twin affection and sadness. "To carry the weight of the dead is to _be as dead._ "

Silence dominated the room once more as Gwen absorbed her friend's words. The other woman straightened to full height, holding out a dry towel for Gwen. "Come, let's look at your arm."

Gwen squeezed the water from her clean hair before trudging from the water, feeling so drained. In the corner sat a squat table and chairs. Strangely, Gwen had not noticed them before, but it was there that she sat, together with the other woman, lost in thought; Éowyn, who remained focused on her neat, even stitches, found the words to speak. After a day like today, neither friend was able to fall out of that oft-used rhythm of brief speaking and deep concentration. Breaking the would-be absolute silence, the faint trickle of water into the pools from the caves resounded through the room. Gwen sighed. Today _just needs to end._ The zip of the thread through her flesh paused a moment.

"Yes, it does," Éowyn murmured into the silence.

* * *

Peach brandy was a smooth alcoholic drink Gwen had never tried before; now that she had, she found she rather liked. The small bladder of it that Éowyn had pressed into her hands on their way out of the sauna was half gone already, and she was thankful for it. Her arm hurt like a bitch, and the alcohol would numb the pain once it kicked in. Gwen also had a feeling it would knock her out, so she was trying to get back to her friends as soon as possible.

As consumed with herself had she had been these last hours, she was worried about Gimli. _I hope he's awake._ Aragorn and Legolas jumped to their feet at her appearance in the room, and Gimli was, thankfully, awake and sitting up in the one of the beds in the room. Grim sat on the floor at the end of the room, looking, well, _grim._ They had obviously waiting for her to return. The men took in her towel-covered body and newly stitched arm with a faint air of amusement and embarrassment, but Grim's eyes darkened under her gaze. Her recent encounter with Éomer made her more aware than ever that the blacksmith seemed to want her for more than friendship. Her tipsy mind vowed to think on that more when she was sober.

For now, though, she would enjoy his eyes on her. _After all,_ her insidious thoughts whispered _, it's not like you're taken._ Her heart murmured otherwise, but it was easily ignored. "Ahh, lassie," Gimli rumbled through his beard from where he sat upon his bed, "You're a sight for these old eyes." His eyes gleamed appreciatively at her legs. Gwen blushed hotly, and Legolas moved to shield her from the dwarf's eyes.

"He's been drinking," he whispered in Sindarin, by way of an apology. Gwen nodded and raised her own bit of alcohol with a little shake. "Me too," she laughed. Legolas' lips curved up with a smile, but as Aragorn handed her the extra pair of breeches and a tunic she always had, she could see they were tense and solemn. "What is going on?" Gwen asked, automatically growing worried. _I really can't deal with anything else today._ But she knew she would, if she had to.

"Erkenbrand and a contingent of Éorlingas men have left the keep to pursue the remaining uruk-hai retreating to Orthanc," Erkenbrand, Gwen had learned, was another Marshal of Rohan, who had swooped in with Gandalf to save the day at Helm's Deep. Legolas added, "Gandalf seems to think that we are needed as well, and so we are to follow on the morrow, along with the King, his heir, and a few guard. The rest of those here will return to Edoras."

Gwen, now dressed, sagged into the bed, nodding. _Gotta do what you gotta do._ "Well, when do we leave?" It never occurred to her that they would split up, but when Aragorn hesitated, Gwen grew suspicious. "Éowyn will be among them," he continued, watching her carefully to gauge her reception of his suggestion. "We thought you might want to join her instead, so that you might have more time to take your rest here before the departure back to Edoras."

Remembering Éomer's words, and feeling keenly her own sense of duty, Gwen shook her head. "No. Where you go, I go. I mean it." Her tone was laced with steel. Aragorn retreated back to his bed, nodding at her, clearly unwilling to impose his will upon her. "The road will not be pleasant, _elen._ " Gwen smiled grimly. _When has it ever been pleasant?_

She was swaying on her feet. Legolas bent and clasped her hand to his chest, easing her down into the nearest empty bed as a father might his child. Drowsily, it occurred to Gwen that the alcohol she had consumed had finally hit her. She fell asleep even as Legolas placed the scratchy blanket around her shoulders.

The Ranger and the elf shared a look, and again with Grim, who they had grown used to watching over Gwen. Both males knew well enough that he was fond of her. "She'll be alright," Aragorn said, as if to reassure the blacksmith, but in reality to remind himself. From his sitting position beside her, Legolas brushed a lock of her hair from Gwen's face, nodding. _Yes,_ _she will be._

Tomorrow, thankfully, Helm's Deep would be behind them for good.

* * *

 _Please review._


	62. An Alternate Path

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Three: An Alternate Path**

 **by:** _Sherrywine_

* * *

 _March 6th, TA3019_

Gwen placed the last of her meager belongings inside her satchel before closing it. Haldir watched her with solemn eyes, and smiled a bit when she looked at him again. He had come to say goodbye to her before she and her companions left Helm's Deep for Orthanc, and he was lucky to have caught her.

Aragorn and Gandalf were eager to be going, though Gwen suspected they both had different reasons for wanting to get away from this place so badly. Gandalf, she knew, wanted badly to interrogate the White Wizard, Saruman, who was holed up there. Aragorn, however, seemed just to want to leave the stink of Helm's Deep behind. And who could blame him? It was a graveyard. What was supposed to have been an abrupt departure the day after the battle had turned into a several-day furlough in the battered keep.

Haldir was himself getting ready to leave the fortress for his own home amongst the trees of the Golden Wood. Gwen was happy to know he would be back into top shape given time and rest; she had worried about him over the last days. It had seemed at first as if he would never wake up. His brother assured her it was just the elven way of healing. Gwen pulled herself from her thoughts before turning with a sigh to the elf warden who had strangely become a friend of sorts.

Placing a hand on his heavily bandaged shoulder, Gwen said, "Be safe on your journey, Haldir." He favored his wounded side greatly, but with the aid of one of his soldiers was able to walk. With a fair bit of humor in his eyes, Haldir replied, "And you as well, Lady Gwendolyn." A wordless thank you passed between them before she turned and hefted her pack to her back. With one last wave, Gwen left the bare quarters that had served as her home for the last days. She was not ashamed to say that she would not miss the human fortress at all. Too much had happened here that would haunt her.

As she turned the corner into the next corridor, she slammed into Grimbold, and both man and woman staggered at the collision. Firm hands steadied her gently, and the concern on the man's face was clear. "My apologies, Gwennie," he said affectionately. "I must be more careful. Did I hurt you?" His hands had yet to leave her arms, and Gwen gave herself permission to enjoy his touch. _He's no Éomer, though._ Gwen only nodded, giving no indication to her thoughts. She smiled at him gently. "Just fine, Grim. I didn't see you, either." Grim reversed course to walk with her into the great hall of the keep, where feasts would normally be held, but for now served as the King's common room.

Aragorn was talking seriously with Gandalf, Éomer, and King Théoden while Legolas and a still-recovering Gimli looked over their packs one last time. Upon seeing her enter the room, Aragorn waved her over to him. Gwen knew Éomer's eyes were on her, but she resolutely ignored the fluttering in her stomach the knowledge caused before moving to her friend's side. "Are you ready to go, _elen?_ " Aragorn murmured quietly. Gwen nodded, meeting Gandalf's solemn gaze with a small smile. "Very much so, my friend," she whispered back, not wanting to disturb the King's conversation with his nephew.

Aragorn nodded. "As am I." His gaze lifted over her head and held on something in the distance, causing Gwen to turn curiously. Éowyn stood in the doorway in a pretty yellow gown, obviously getting ready to say her goodbyes. Gwen was anxious to get going. "One last goodbye to say, yes?" Aragorn's voice murmured in her ear, and Gwen nodded before pulling away from her friend and crossing to the Éorlingas woman and embracing her. "I'll see you very soon." Éowyn gripped her tightly for a moment before releasing her and nodding down at the shorter woman. "Of course! I look forward to it already." Gwen nodded.

"Be safe on the road, when you go," she told the older woman, concern for her friend obvious. With shadows in her eyes, Éowyn nodded. "I will. Watch out for my brother." Gwen looked over at the brawny horse lord before meeting the other woman's eyes solemnly. "I'll keep an eye out," she promised. _Not that he'll want me to._ Éowyn seemed to understand the topic was closed between them, because she did not say anything more. With one last hug, she crossed to her uncle and brother to say her goodbyes, leaving Gwen standing in the open archway leading out into the partially destroyed courtyard.

It was a true battle zone out here. The bodies of dead uruk-hai had been piled up outside the keep walls and burned, and the long, thick column of smoke it created was cloying and beyond disgusting to smell. The bodies of the slain men and elves were piled up inside the courtyard, where a contingent of men and women worked to bury them. The sight made Gwen's heart clench. Grim appeared behind her, his big, solid presence a comfort to her. Helm's Deep was wounded, and it made her soul cry out in denial of the horrors she had seen. Grim slid his brawny hands up her arms, where they came to rest on her shoulders in comfort. Twisting her neck, Gwen smiled up at the handsome warrior. Somewhere along the way, Grim had become more than an acquaintance. Almost a friend. Maybe, one day, more. _If I can ever get Éomer out of my mind,_ she told herself. _Grim is better than someone else's second-best._

She had been paying attention to the signals he was giving her in the last days, and he had all but spoken his interest to her. Still, Gwen had yet to make a move; Éomer's reminder of duty had all but convinced her not to. Grim, it seemed, was content to wait, and was happy merely in her company. "It could have been much worse, Gwennie," he rumbled, looking out onto the open plains along with her. The nickname he had given her wasn't her favorite, but he called her only because he knew he was the only one who did, so she allowed him that silly intimacy even as it made her wince.

She preferred even 'beauty' to it. Still, there were worse things than silly nicknames to worry about. He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's go find a horse or two." Grim cupped her arm as they descended the stone steps and navigated the rock-strewn ground. The blast that had rocked Helm's Deep had blown stone clear across the keep from one side to another, and it was treacherous to walk through. More than once she had tripped on loose stones in this very area.

Her companions joined her and Grim in the stables a few minutes later, as Gwen was leading a dapple gray mare from a stall to be saddled. With a stern, no-nonsense gaze, Éomer halted her progress. "We do not have many steeds, Lady Gwendolyn," he said, in an emotionless voice. "You will need to ride with another." His stern, formal way of speaking to her, as if he did not know her at all, devastated her on many levels, but Gwen only nodded and turned away, determined not to show him how his behavior towards her hurt. She was officially off that emotional roller coaster; now if someone could just tell her heart that, she would be great.

Gwen walked out into the clear sunlight. Unaware Grim had seen the entire exchange as he saddled his own big warhorse, she was startled when his brawny arms encircled her and lifted her from her feet. With a loud yelp that drew the attention of every man, dwarf and elf in the stable, Gwen was placed in the broad saddle across the horse's back, where Grim held her steady. Red with embarrassment, Gwen murmured, "Damn you, Grim." The big Éorlingas was laughing up at her unabashedly at the fright he had given her, and she reached down to whack his shoulder. Gwen was sure it hurt her hand more than his shoulder, of course.

Aragorn was already in the saddle of his own horse, and he brought his steed close to Grim's. "You may always ride with me, _elen,_ should you tire of this man's mischief." His eyes twinkled at her in his own mirth, even when Grim mounted behind her, all muscle and _very_ close, pretending to be hurt. Awareness went through Gwen, but she resolutely ignored it. "My Gwennie would not leave me, would you, beauty?"

Aragorn and Grim shared a masculine laugh of mirth, even as the other man brought her into his embrace in mock possessiveness. Gwen was very aware of the King and Éomer watching them as well. Determined to act normally despite Éomer being around, Gwen relaxed into Grim's arms, very comfortable despite herself. "Oh, I don't know, Grim," she teased softly, genuinely enjoying herself. "I've known Aragorn much longer than you. I would probably have to leave you if he asked." Aragorn smiled at her response. The playful banter that had so distracted her before ended when the King called out that they depart.

Legolas and Gimli rode together on the dainty mare Éomer had stopped her from riding. The King led the procession of horses slowly from the keep, accepting bouquets of flowers and trinkets from his people as they passed. Gwen hated to see the fear in their faces as they left. All their hopes and fears lay at Théoden's – and by default – Éomer's feet.

Grimbold led them expertly from the Keep behind Aragorn's mount. They were followed by Éomer, as well as Legolas and Gimli. The King's guard brought up the rear. A strong breeze kicked up once they reached the open plains, making Gwen exceptionally grateful for two things: that she had secured her hair and that she was not riding alone. She would have frozen by now were it not for Grim's furnace-like heat. Though it was not cold outright, the winds whipping across the land were.

After a while, Gwen no longer minded how close she and Grim were in the saddle. It was a side-effect of riding, she accepted that. He did not attempt to touch her in any way that was designed to make her aware of him, though it was hard not to be aware of such bulk. For a while, Aragorn rode beside them and talked to Grimbold about military things. This lulled Gwen into a light slumber for a time. Eventually Aragorn moved up to speak with the King, leaving Gwen alone with the warrior with whom she rode. She was nearly asleep again when Grim nudged her with his nose against her scalp, murmuring, "Beauty?"

"Mmmm?" She murmured back unconcernedly. Grim's arm tightened around her fractionally as he shifted his grip on the big warhorse flexing beneath them rhythmically. "When did you give yourself to Éomer?" He asked curiously. The words rumbled _through_ her, vibrating from his chest to her, but it took her a moment to register what he had asked. When understanding slammed into her, she stiffened with a gasp, causing Grim to tightened his grip again so she wouldn't fall. "Shh, little beauty, 'tis only a question."

Fury at his audacity made her stiff in his grip. "It's one I'll not be answering, either," she whispered angrily, trying to be discreet. _How did he know?!_ She could feel Grim chuckle, but the sound wasn't mirthful. It was instead rather dark. "I don't need you to, beauty," he returned, his voice gravelly. "Your reaction, and his actions toward you today, tell me what I want to know." Shock tore through her. _Is it that obvious?_ She was unable to speak. Behind her, Grim sighed. "Relax, Gwennie. I needed to know." Gwen could only absorb his words. Still tense, her back thumped against his chest when he pulled her back into his embrace once more.

Gwen still couldn't believe she was so easy to read. "How could you tell?" The words came out aghast. Then, "Wait, what? Help me how?" Gwen stammered out the questions, thoroughly shocked and confused. Grim chuckled again, and this time the sound was less dark. "I am a man, beauty, who has known many women. You are as innocent as the day I met you in the Westfold," he growled. "I can read your face as easily as I could then, too. You forgot what I told you," he chided lowly. His long dark hair whipped into her mouth as the wind gusted around them. He did not sound disappointed, only a little angry. He did not direct that anger at her, as far she could tell, but it swirled in his voice clearly. Gwen couldn't deny Grim had been right, to a point, at the time.

Which only made her more angry and sad, and less at Grim for being so audacious. He was right. "And, too, I see quite easily how Éomer watches you, even now. _No_ , don't look, silly filly." His breath tickled her ear when he leaned forward in the saddle against her, aligning their bodies more. "He's wanting to kill me right now, beauty." The thought of his words being true made Gwen ridiculously pleased and yet disturbed all the same. "And I plan to make him try," Grim muttered darkly under his breath. She was now experienced enough to know what he meant, and Gwen sighed. "Grim, it doesn't matter, really. What's done is done." The warrior made a sound in his chest, an unhappy sound.

"But it does, Gwennie, when you've gone and fallen in love with him."

* * *

 _Please review._


	63. An Entirely Serious Matter

**Chapter 64: Understandings**

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Four: An Entirely Serious Matter**

 **By: Sherrywine**

* * *

For many hours afterward, Gwen turned over Grim's observations in her mind.

She sat stunned in Grim's arms for a long time, unable to form a true reply. _In love with Éomer?_ The idea was ridiculous! _Sex does not equal love, didn't mom always say that?_ No, in this, Gwen knew, Grim was _not_ right. She was a lot of things, and a fool wasn't one of them. One did not just go and fall in love with the future King of Rohan knowing it could never work. "Oh no, Grim," Gwen sighed, "that's where you are wrong. I don't love Éomer. I just happen to be very susceptible to him." If she was very honest with herself, she was even vulnerable to him. He was her first, for all that was worth. _It's worth a great deal,_ her inner voice whispered. The wind howled, causing them both to hunch over as it buffeted them. To Grim's credit, his grip never slackened from her. _Why can't I be susceptible to him?_

This conversation was surreal. Silence dominated their space for a long while. "Let me tell you a story, beauty," Grim said at last. "It is a story of a very foolish man, a man that you may find very familiar." He paused, and Gwen automatically jumped in. "Are you going to tell me stories of Éomer's escapades? Because I really don't need to hear them. I know I messed up – I just don't think that means I'm in love with the guy." Grim reached up and clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Shh, and listen." His high-handedness reminded her of Éomer, and the infuriated her to no end. She started to open her mouth again and he chuckled, hand still warm and heavy over her mouth. "Don't spit at me, Gwennie. This story is not of Éomer, though I find it amusing that you would assume it is so." He let the words linger, and she could almost hear him saying, _Gwennie, zero. Grim, one._ Bastard. Still, she shut her mouth and listened, finding it strangely soothing to listen to his deep timbered voice as he spoke.

"There was once a very foolish man of the plains, who looked upon all women, old and young, with a kind eye. He believed himself to be the epitome of good looks and charm, and that any woman he wanted he could have." Gwen snorted. "Sounds like Éomer, so far," she said derisively, not without humor. When Grim raised his hand again in warning, she swatted it, giggled, and said, "Fine, I'll be quiet. Continue, please."

Grim steered the warhorse they rode on through some rocky terrain onto smoother ground, the animal following Aragorn and the King almost instinctively, before returning his hand to her waist. "This man was arrogant, too. The women that flocked to his bed made him so, and increased his thinking that he could have any woman he so desired. This man grew unappreciative of the attention women gave to him so freely, and eventually he became callous in his treatment of them. He laid with a new woman every night, and his reputation as a man of many beds began to spread. Soon, he began to entice women from even their marriage beds. He had forgotten what it meant to be worthy of a woman's love."

A niggling thought grew in Gwen's mind, but she stayed quiet as she promised she would. Grim continued with his story, unhurried. "His life was, as he saw it, quite perfect, and lacking for nothing. Until one day, he met a singularly beautiful woman who was kind and loving to all who knew her. She was a gentle thing, beautiful, and as brave as any warrior." Grim paused, flicking a piece of her hair from his face. "Much like you, actually, beauty," he said with a laugh. He went silent for a few minutes, until Gwen thought he had lost the story entirely.

"The man treated the woman as callously as he had all the rest. The woman grew to love him, despite his ways, and she began to teach him, in her own way, about that love. The man, fool that he was, feared the emotions she stirred in him and chose instead to scorn her love and its value to all others, saying terrible and cruel things about her. He told all the men who knew her lies, of her loose morals and that her bed would make no man a suitable marriage. Yet he found himself unable to stay away from her."

Gwen was appalled at the man's behavior. She had a feeling this story wasn't going to end well. "He used her! Why would the man treat her so poorly?" She whispered, almost to herself. Grim's arms tensed around her before relaxing again after a moment. His voice, when he spoke, was husky and hoarse. "The man, as I said, was a fool. He failed to see that that to be in love is to be eternally vulnerable. Love has pure intentions, yes?" Gwen nodded. "This man did not see the truth of that," Grim admitted. "So, as I said, he scorned her deeply, to all who knew her. She was a shamed woman. Unable to cope, feeling as if her life would be empty forever, she took her own life."

Gwen gasped, horrified. "How terrible!" Grim nodded, and his voice was sad. "Yes. The man's eyes were opened, and in his guilt, he realized, a person does not have to be given love by the person they love to feel it. The nature of love is sacrificial. The man's failing was in toying with the love that was given, not in failing to give it back." Gwen sat quietly in Grim's arms, contemplating the story he had told her. _I wonder what lesson he would have me take from his story._

"Did you know the man in the story, or the woman?" she asked quietly, contemplating Éomer's actions. Her actions. Grim lifted a hand to her face, not to clamp down on her mouth, but to cup her cheek gently. "Both, beauty," he sighed, heavily. "I was the poor fool." Grim's admission had her turning bodily in the saddle to look at him, catching his gray eyes with her own. In them, she could see his guilt.

"I suspected," she whispered to him, so close he heard her easily. She turned back to seat herself in the curve of his arms again, comfortable despite the story of his cruelty. For a long time, she was silent, even when Éomer rode up beside them to make what was, in Gwen's mind, frivolous small talk. She ignored his gaze upon her, even when she could all but feel his demand that she look at him. What she knew of Grim did not add up to the story he had told her about himself. _People can change. Do change._ If what he said was true, and Gwen did not believe he had a reason to lie, then he had indeed changed. When Éomer left them again with a terse word, Gwen asked, "Why tell me that story, Grim? What does it have to do with Éomer and I?"

Grim sighed heavily, deeply. "You say you do not love him, and perhaps you do not. I do not know your heart." he murmured into her ear. "I do know this, beauty. You look at him as she did me." His arms tightened around her, drawing her up fully against him even more than she was already. She felt the power in his body, coiled and tense.

"I wanted you from the moment I saw you with him, Gwennie," he admitted. Gwen gasped, and would have jerked again had he not clasped her to him so tightly. "I could have had you," he started, drawing her ire for his arrogance. _What is it about these Rohan men?_ Gwen flushed when she realized he had been right about Éomer. Why should he be wrong about this? Shaking her head, she waited for him to finish his thought. "I have no desire to repeat my past mistakes, you see," he said gently. "So, I withheld myself. But that is not so much the point of why I began this conversation, beauty. Many men desire you, that is nothing new. I simply wish to _keep you,_ unlike our Prince."

Gwen was shocked at his words. _Many men desire me? He wants to_ _keep_ _me?_ She turned the words over in her head, but was drawn away by Grim's voice speaking again, this time cursing angrily. Coming out of the bubble their personal conversation had drawn her into, Gwen realized their caravan had stopped and was beginning to make camp for the night in a rock crag nearby. "We will finish this conversation later, Gwennie." He pulled his warhorse to a stop and dismounted, stretching his long legs to free them from the stiffness she knew could sometimes take hold. He seemed unaffected, however, as he helped her down and held her securely as she stretched. She noted his gentle care of her, and his handsome looks.

It was curious to her. Grim was just as good-looking as Éomer, but she did not feel weak around him. It wasn't that she felt nothing at all, but not the deep, encompassing temptation to _touch_ like she did with the King's nephew. Sad, really. Grim would make a woman very happy, by her thinking. Briefly she thought of other things about him that might please a woman as well, but Gwen stopped herself from going there further. She had made that mistake once already, and listening to desires had gotten her into an emotional tangle with Éomer already.

Grim excused himself from her company to attend to the King, as she assumed all the men here had to do save for her friends. Aragorn strode to her with a small smile on his face. "You seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation with the resident Éorlingas blacksmith," he teased lightly. Gwen smiled, nodding. "He told me a story," she explained brightly, even as she contemplated her situation. Legolas and Gimli joined them, the dwarf scowling blackly. When he complained of a headache, Gwen quickly found the packet of powders Éowyn had given her for just such symptoms. She bid him to lay down as she mixed a portion of it into a cup of water.

As the King's guard began to scatter and hunt for game, Aragorn and Legolas joined them, leaving their company with a wordless hand to her shoulder. "Tis good to see you smiling again, lassie," Gimli grumbled from his place on the pallet she laid out for him. Gwen nodded, smiling a bit. "Being at Helm's Deep was...hard," she admitted to him softly as she sat by his side. "I didn't have much of a reason to smile." Gimli regarded her carefully in that dwarvish way of his before nodding and sipping again at the powdered drink she had given him. "You're a strong one, lassie. Stubborn, too. Have been since the first time I saw you, sneaking peeks at the meeting in Rivendell." Gwen blushed at his words and the memory of that embarrassing situation. _To have been caught!_ "My father said yeh reminded him of someone he once knew – a wee human lassie." He sipped again at the drink. His words tickled at something in her memory, but before she could dwell on it overmuch, he had distracted her with his sudden sputters.

"By the Valar, woman, what is this vile concoction?" He made a face, causing her to laugh openly, with gaiety at him. Legolas returned from a quick foraging trip with a handful of herbs for any meat Aragorn brought back from his hunt, and a half a dozen wild onions. He smiled openly at her happiness. As Gwen coaxed Gimli into sipping the last of the powdered drink, Legolas built a small fire for them to cook their food on, and to sleep around during the night. By the time they had a merrily burning fire, Gimli was sound asleep, a product of the medicine he had taken. Gwen fussed with his blanket, settling it over him gently, and brushing his heavy braids out of his face.

Legolas peered at her from across the fire.

"That he continues to have pains concerns me, _elen,_ " he said softly. Gwen glanced down at their friend, nodding. "It can take a while to heal from head wounds." she replied. "Remember how long it took me to recover from that blow Boromir gave me?" Gwen's thoughts turned to the past, remembering the kind, strong Gondorian. Legolas' face hardened momentarily as he, too, remembered those days, before it softened again. Aragorn appeared out of the growing darkness, Grim at his side. Gwen didn't fail to miss how upset the Ranger looked. He was carrying a trio of rabbits, which he passed wordlessly to Legolas to skin. Grimly, he sat near Gwen, savoring the heat from the fire as he looked at her. Something about his gaze made her nervous, and Grim's presence didn't help either. Gone was the teasing Aragorn from just an hour or two previously.

Grim took a seat at their campfire beside her. His eyes were brooding, and for a long while no one spoke. Even _she_ could feel the tension in the camp. Finally, Aragorn began to speak, breaking the uncomfortable silence. " _Elen_ , there is something I feel you should be aware of, if you are not already." he started at last. "No, Legolas, stay, you are involved in this as well." Legolas had risen to give them privacy, but Aragorn halted him with his words.

Gwen's unease grew when she realized Grim wasn't leaving either. _Please don't talk about Éomer._ She could not imagine a more embarrassing conversation to have with the elder man, whom she viewed as a protector and friend. Still, she couldn't think of any other reason for Grim to be here for a conversation as grave as the one Aragorn had just begun.

Clearing her thoughts, Gwen met Aragorn's eyes, ignoring Gimli's raucous snores. He, at least, would miss this conversation. _Thank god for small favors._ Aragorn seemed to grow uncomfortable under her eyes, but he continued. "I know that you and the King's heir...have a connection." She could see he was embarrassed just to say it, so Gwen understood he meant he knew they had had sex. _Just great. This really is the last conversation I want to have with Aragorn and Legolas._

She knew exactly where this was coming from, too. Grim. Swinging her eyes round to meet his gravely serious ones, Gwen glared at him. "This is _so_ not anyone's business but my own," she groaned. Aragorn nodded, picking a blade of grass to chew. "Normally yes, I would agree with you, but.. _elen._ " Aragorn seemed to grow really uncomfortable then. "I do not believe you have thought of something very important in regards to this, and we all here care for you very much." Legolas nodded, even as he shot a look to Grim, who stayed silent.

Gwen had endured about as much intrigue as she could handle. "Okay, tell me then," she rushed. "What did I forget in my haste to go get naked with the King's heir?" Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but Grim cut her off. "You could be pregnant, girl," he ground out lowly, stunning her into absolute silence. Legolas looked as shocked as she at the notion, but thankfully he continued skinning the rabbits without a word. Aragorn added, "And out of wedlock, too. It could ruin you, _elen_."

She stared across the low fire incredulously. They were absolutely right; she had not given a thought to pregnancy. Shit. _Oh my God. How the fuck could I forget about something like that?_ Green with sick realization, Gwen's eyes strayed across the narrow craggy field they were camped in, to where Théoden and his nephew were camped. She swallowed.

"Well, you're right. I didn't think of that possibility." Because she was a fucking idiot.

* * *

 _No, I'm not saying she's prego, readers. Just that its possible, which it obviously is!_

 _Please review._


	64. Careful Reckoning

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

 _I'm gonna admit this chapter may have some of you throwing things at me, but I'd like to reiterate what I said before:_ _ **There is NO romance triangle in this story**_ **.** _It's definitely not in Gwen's nature to be doing the tango with two guys so quickly, just saying. There is a rhyme to my reason, just stick with me._

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 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Five: A Careful Reckoning**

 **By: Sherrywine**

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The sound of the fire crackling and popping as it burned mixed with the increasing night sounds of insects and birds was all that could be heard for long moments in Aragorn's camp. Gwen's mind was rolling with emotions, as it often seemed to these days. It made it so hard to focus on anything. Anger and shame and a keen sense of being overwhelmed flooded her senses, and, unable to take anymore of her own thoughts or talk of _babies_ , Gwen stood. She needed some space.

"Well, there's no point in worrying about it now. I won't know for weeks, at least," Gwen declared. Truthfully, though, she _was_ worried about it. _What will happen if I am?!_ Her movements and words startled the men, and when Grim started to follow her, she stayed his action with a hand. "I need some time to myself," she said flatly. Her sad eyes wandered to Aragorn, then Legolas, who was by now cubing the rabbit's flesh into a pot at his side. He was the only elf she had ever seen handle meat, a byproduct of what, in his words, was necessity. Though he would eat _lembas_ bread tonight, he made no complaints about being around the flesh of the animals he would never touch otherwise. Aragorn's eyes were concerned, and shadowed as he watched her leave the camp. "She'll not go far," he murmured.

And she didn't. Gwen found a wind-smoothed boulder a short ways off and sat upon it. She had to scramble up onto the thing, as it was as tall as she was, but the effort was worth it – once seated, it made an excellent thinking spot. Gwen allowed her thoughts free reign, then, and her mind was sent whirling with so many thoughts. _How could I have been so stupid?_ The thought of pregnancy had not occurred to her in the slightest – either time she had been with Éomer. No one knew about that first night on the plains, but obviously Aragorn and Legolas and _Grim_ , damn him, knew about that desperate meeting of bodies at Helm's Deep. It never should have happened – but she had _needed_ so desperately. Would fate be so cruel as to leave her heavy with his child? A child he surely would not want? Gwen snorted out loud, the sound nasty and hollow in the cooling night.

 _Of course it would. Fate has been cruel before, hasn't it?_ It had placed her here, alone, without a sense of direction to guide her in one way or another. She had adapted, though, hadn't she? The stupidity Gwen had shown here was mind-boggling, no matter how she looked at it. God, but she wanted her parents. They, at least, would know what to do. How to handle even the remote chance of a baby. She would be _safe._

Tears blurred her vision a moment before waning as Gwen stared into the clear sky, and seeing for the first time that night how visible and bright the stars above were. Seeing them there, twinkling merrily, brought back the memory of Legolas' words about love and light and enduring. Somewhere, her parents still lived, and wondered about her, loving her no less than they did before she was gone. She was here, carrying that love as if it was her last lifeline.

Gwen didn't have the slightest idea where to go from here. Had Éomer thought about pregnancy? Had he wondered? She was willing to bet that he had not, and _she,_ at least, was not about to inform him. He had his _duty_ , and so did she. Inhaling the crisp air deeply, Gwen tried to think logically, as her father would have encouraged. In her mind's eye, she could almost see him sitting in his study in that high, plush chair he so loved, painting on the silly model ships he so loved. He would have told her to take each worry as it came and not before. Gwen pressed a hand to her flat stomach. _This_ worry would wait. Most definitely. And she would handle it by herself if and when it was a problem.

A body materialized out of the darkness so swiftly Gwen barely had time to make a sound. A heartbeat later her mind provided an answer. _Not the enemy._ Grim. Irritation and genuine anger welled up in her at the sight of him. God, but this was _his fault_. Not the pregnancy worry, obviously, but that Aragorn and Legolas were involved, and that she was even stressing about it right now. And she didn't want anyone's company, either. Her emotions must have been easily readable on her face, because his gaze was solemn as it traced her features, and a little sad.

"I thought I made it clear I wanted to be alone, Grim," she said coldly. The words were not friendly in the slightest. The tall blacksmith leaned against the broad boulder, all raw muscle and coiled strength that was somehow restrained. He didn't leave her alone like she wanted, instead just standing silent, watching her, like a sentinel. His stubbornness only made her angrier at him. "Go away, damn you," Gwen flung out at him, uncaring that the other Éorlingas could probably hear her cry. Grim crossed his thick forearms over his chest, raising an eyebrow silently, as if to say: _Can you make me?_

"I am not leaving you alone, unarmed, away from camp," he responded resolutely, making her want to hit him for his backward, protective ways. "It would not be safe." Gwen turned away from him with a growl, determined to ignore him. After a dozen heartbeats, he added, "I did not tell your companions of your situation to shame you, beauty." His words reverberated around in her head, until finally she could take her own thoughts no longer.

"Why then?" She spat furiously, back still to him. "Why not just tell _me_ and let _me_ handle it?" Almost as soon as the thought had coalesced into words, Gwen understood why not. She was still thinking like a 21st century girl, a girl who was used to independence and "handling things" on her own. Grim, like Éomer, was a different sort of man. God, but they all were, she realized. It had taken Aragorn and Legolas ages to treat her as they did now, like a friend. But even still, they mothered over her and protected her at cost to themselves. She would never truly be their equal, because here in Middle Earth, women had a different set of duties. To be mothers and wives, not warriors. Not fighters and providers. Hell, Aragorn even said she would be ruined if she _was_ pregnant out of wedlock, which she thought was a crock of shit. But in all reality, it was _his_ truth that mattered now, not hers.

The 21st century was gone. The echo of her angry words fell between her and the burly Éorlingas, and for a moment she thought he had left her there alone again. Overwhelmingly, anxiety built within her. Grim scaled the boulder on which she sat, coming to rest on the balls of his feet beside her, crouched close and protecting her from the wind. A breeze kicked up then to whip at his long hair again, and coupled with the fierce look on his face, made Grim seem fearsome and dangerous, like a warrior of old. But his hands were gentle as they swept back the hair at one temple, encouraging her to look at him.

"You are not alone," Grim said fiercely, as if reading her mind. When her eyes met his, he said gently, "I only want to help you, Gwennie." His words were tender. Grim had said it before, but she hadn't understood what he meant. Now, she was beginning to see what brand of help he wanted to give. He wanted to "keep her," by his own admission! The entire situation just made her weary. Her anger was not assuaged, but the caring in his gaze softened her heart a little. Seeking a more comfortable position, Grim shifted and came to rest beside her, his body curving around hers slightly to protect her from the increased wind. Her eyes were scanning the sky again, seeking clarity from the stars somehow.

"I don't understand how involving my friends in this mess is going to help me, Grim," she sighed at last. "All they'll do now is hover and worry, and we can't afford to be distracted right now. Sauron's still out there, waiting to kill us all. Baby or no baby, I have a responsibility to be there, too."

Just saying the vile name seemed to chill the air, and Grim nodded in understanding. "I am but a simple man of Rohan who cares for you," He murmured gently, then sighed. "I would see you safe through the end if you would but let me, just as your companions would." His hand touched her hair again, and she did not begrudge him the intimacy. "But where they cannot, I will protect you, and the babe, if the time comes," Grim swore, and the words made Gwen shiver. She turned to him, stared up into his solemn, caring eyes. _The polar opposite of Éomer._

She couldn't stand it, the regard she saw in his features. She hadn't earned it _._ "Grim," Gwen said at last, "I don't know if I can ever feel for you like I do for him," she admitted, knowing his commitment to her, should it come to that, would be different from Legolas and Aragorn's. They, unlike Grim, were not in a position to protect her from the customs of this world. She had to make him understand her position, if he truly did seek to help her. "I did this to myself," Gwen said, looking up into his piercing gaze again, knowing he was listening keenly to her words, trying to understand. "I wanted Éomer from the first time I saw him. It would be selfish of me to allow you to do what you're asking."

Grim _hadn't_ asked her, but the unspoken question between them lingered, and she couldn't ignore it. "You cannot force my hand in any way, Gwennie," he replied with a touch of humor. "This is my choice to make."

She looked away from him then, unable to take the way his gaze never wavered; it was as if he had already convinced himself. "This is not your responsibility," she whispered into the night, knowing he could hear her. Gwen didn't resist when he shifted into a sitting position before pulling her into his arms. "This is Éomer's responsibility, if I am pregnant," Gwen said strongly from her place in his arms, accepting his silent comfort wordlessly.

Grim snorted. "Éomer's hands are tied by his position, beauty," he replied. "As you well know. At best you would be the mother of his bastard child. That is not acceptable to me. Nor to Aragorn, and I know the elf and dwarf will feel the same. Even if you cannot feel for me as you do him, at least with me there would be honor. A life beyond this war. And if one day, you grow to feel affection for me, all the better.

Gwen shook her head, a denial, twisting in his arms to face him, closer than she had ever been to him. "I don't understand why you're doing this, Grimbold," she murmured, eyes roving his handsome features. "Why become responsible for someone else's mistakes, if it does come to that? Don't you know how much of a burden that is?" She implored him with her eyes, trying to understand his reasons. "It doesn't make sense, and you'll only end up hating me."

A corner of Grim's mouth turned up derisively. "You know that I want you," he replied, his features growing harsh and pointed as he allowed her to see his strong desires. Almost at once, it was gone, and his gaze grew tender. "There would be pleasure between us," Grim murmured sensually, and Gwen grew more aware of his hands on her. "Remember my story?" He asked, caressing her hair gently. "I seek my own honor in aiding you in maintaining yours," he said. "Though I admit I have my own selfish desires in mind, as well."

Gwen blushed red, then started to shake her head, but she paused as he touched her lips with his fingertips, and she didn't resist when he pulled her back into his arms to cradle her close. _Like a lover._ The whole situation was difficult, and completely her fault. "Beauty," his voice rumbled above her head. "Tis' not even for certain yet. As you said, we'll not know for weeks." His voice soothed her frayed nerves, and not for the first time Gwen found herself grateful for his presence. Grim was _solid_ , and reliable. A friend. _Could he ever be more?_ She didn't know. "But when you do," he whispered, "Come to me."

* * *

The ranger's campfire had burned low into cinders by the time Grim returned with Gwen in his arms, curled into sleep against his chest. Aragorn was still awake, speaking lowly to another as he approached. Upon seeing him, the Ranger stood, worry clear in his eyes as they lingered on the girl in his arms. It was clear to him that he and his companions cared deeply for her.

Yet when his eyes met Grim's, they were hard and flinty. "I do not like how this has strained her," he bit out harshly in a low whisper. "Did you speak to her?" Aragorn asked softly. Grim settled Gwennie on the pallet Aragorn had placed out for her and covered her with a blanket, nodding at the human. "Had I known what was between them, I would have done things differently," the warrior intoned, features hard. "He should have been stronger, resisted the urge between them. She is far too naive and innocent of the world." Thinking of Éomer made Grim want to curse his name, but their plan if Gwen was with child would work. Aragorn looked a little sad. Legolas' face appeared in the darkness, features smooth and free of emotion that Grim could see.

Gwen slept on undisturbed. She was too young to have so many cares, he thought, but war did that to many who lived to see it. The elf, Legolas, stared into the fire for long moments. "I did not realize she was connected to him in such a way." Grim thought he looked a little confused, but in the dim light, his eyes gleamed with anger. "Does Lord Éomer care nothing for her, then?"

Aragorn looked to Grim, knowing he knew the man much better than they did. In his thoughts, Grim cursed his old friend for causing this. "I am unsure. While Éomer has always been active in his desire of women, I have never known him to bed an innocent like Gwen. He has always favored knowledge over innocence." He paused, considering how much to reveal to these companions. "She tells me they are no longer involved, but yet he watches her constantly. In my company today, I could feel his fury at her closeness to me." Grim met the elf's watchful eyes over the spit. "Never, in all my days, have I see Éomer act in such a way, even concerning his sister." Grim leaned on his thighs over the fire, sweeping his dark hair over one shoulder. "It is obvious to _me_ that he wants and desires her even still, but as for caring…" He trailed off, skin and eyes gleaming in the firelight. "I cannot speak for his heart. Nor would I want to."

Aragorn shook his head, knowing that Legolas would not understand the forces at play in the human world in this situation. "Even if he did care, Legolas," he began seriously, "He cannot go against his position by claiming their child, or Gwen. It would cause him to lose support for his own claim to the royal seat." He glanced down at their friend, wishing with all his being that she was not in this position. It was all but impossible to navigate, and it made his head and his heart hurt. Legolas, too, looked bereaved. "In this, we cannot protect her," he muttered, clearly disgusted.

Grim sighed. "That's my job," he said gently. Aragorn nodded, grateful to have the blacksmith at their backs. "Let's just hope nothing comes of it."

Only time would truly tell.

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 _Please review._


	65. Duty

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Six: Duty**

 **By: Sherrywine**

* * *

Gwen woke the next morning, ravenous and drained emotionally.

The sun had not yet risen in the sky, but it was growing lighter with every moment that passed. She lay on her pallet by the dead fire, listening to the soft sounds of waking men and horses. She did not recall coming to bed the night previous, but obviously she had been placed carefully by the fire for warmth by someone, and Gwen assumed that someone was Grim. Anxiety crawled through her at the thought of all that had occurred last night, but inwardly sighed and tried to tuck it away. _No point in worrying about something that might not even happen._ For now, she had a job to do.

It was enough that Aragorn and Grim had a plan in place, as much as she doubted the wisdom of it. She trusted them, so she would trust in the plan. Somehow. At that moment, her stomach growled audibly, reminding her that she did not eat supper last night like the rest of the men. Quietly, Gwen sat up on the flat pallet that had become her bed, stretching with a low groan. Her back popped satisfactorily. Her face brightened when she caught sight of last night's supper still sitting over the pile of ash that remained of their campfire. Rolling to her feet, careful not to wake a sleeping Gimli, Gwen removed the now stone cold pan from the fire, willing and ready to eat whatever remained.

If there was nothing left, it would be hard lembas bread for her today. She didn't relish the thought. Luckily, there was enough stew left from supper to scrape a few bites of rabbit and onion from the pot. It wasn't enough to tide her over through the day, but she could always eat a bit of jerky or lembas later if she got hungry. Knowing Legolas would need the pan and the other utensils returned to him, Gwen made her way away from camp carefully, seeking the nearest stream from which she would be able to clean the dishes.

She took every step carefully, listening intently for any sounds of danger. Seeing and hearing nothing, Gwen reached the stream a moment later and set about the task of cleaning the dishes. Once or twice she dropped a piece into the swiftly moving waters and was forced to go chasing it down before it was lost for good. She wouldn't be surprised if Aragorn or another Éorlingas warrior appeared out of the early morning dimness to see what the ruckus was all about.

By the end of her domestic task, Gwen was soaked from the elbows down, and had streaks of wetness across her torso and thighs. The dampness of her clothing caused her to shiver slightly in the cool morning air, but she was able to ignore the chill easily enough. The sun peeked over the horizon just as she straightened with the dishes in her arms to return to camp, and Gwen found the sight was breathtaking. The orange-yellow glow amongst the clear blue of the sky warmed a starving part of her, a place that had grown grim and cold of late. For a moment, she watched the golden ball ascend into the sky, tick by tick, wondering at that moment if somewhere Jessie was doing the same thing. Her best friend had always raved about the early morning tradition she had for herself, and how pleasant it was to watch the sun come up. With a deep breath of cool, crisp, clean air, Gwen found herself agreeing with the girl – which was utterly laughable, as Gwen had never, _ever_ seen a reason to get up early enough to see a sun rise.

 _Oh how things change,_ she mused. Gwen knew the peace and quiet of the morning would be broken when she returned to camp, so she lingered at the stream for long moments more. Then, dishes in hand, she turned to make her way back to the camp. The walk itself was short and straightforward, but along the way she found herself passing closely by a tired-looking Éomer, who trudged roughly along the same path as she, brushing a weary hand through his shoulder-length hair. Had he not slept well? Gwen resisted the urge to stop him and inquire, since it obviously wasn't her business how he was doing, but his rather run-down appearance made her want to help him. He barely spared her a glance, and Gwen shook herself out of her silly thoughts, knowing her care would probably not be appreciated by the stoic, often cold and hard Marshal. Still, she couldn't help but watch him lingeringly as he descended to the same stream where she had been, remembering a time when he would have teasingly asked her to join him.

No more. There was a barrier between them now, of duty and loyalty to myriad causes. It didn't seem that it would ever be broken down. Not by her, and not by a child. One of the pans in her arms started to slip as she lingered on the rocky hill, and she hoisted it up into her arms more fully. A tad sad, Gwen turned and continued back to camp, knowing Aragorn would be worried if she was gone too long. Upon returning to camp, Gwen found Legolas' gear and stowed the few utensils and plates she had cleaned neatly away in one of his bags. Gimli was now awake, much to his displeasure, and Aragorn was carefully destroying evidence of their camp around the dwarf as he sat grumpily amongst his weapons.

There was no sign of Legolas. The King's men were already saddling their mounts ahead of them, so Gwen began to do the same, rolling her thin blanket and pallet to be tied to her satchel. The dapple gray mare was patient with her as she struggled to tie the heavy baggage to the saddle, but even then Aragorn was forced to come and help her. He smiled down at her gently, his face showing weariness. The dark circles under his eyes had grown larger, and the stubble lining his face was growing thick and peppered with lighter colors. "I trust you slept well, _elen_ ," he murmured softly as he easily secured the sacks to the horse. Gwen nodded. "You?" she asked softly. Aragorn grunted, whether from his exertion or her question, she wasn't sure.

"Dreams have plagued my sleep of late," he admitted after a moment. His pale blue-gray eyes met Gwen's, open and furrowed by lines of stress, and even now his jaw was tense. Winking up from within his shirt was a jeweled necklace, and at once she surmised it belonged to Arwen. She wondered if his dreams were of the elven woman, who she had thought was waiting for him in Rivendell with her father. Gwen had been saddened to learn that she was to sail to the Undying Lands, like Glorfindel. There was so much that Aragorn kept inside, and she worried that in the coming months he would implode from the force of his stresses and cares. She made a mental note to keep her cares close, so not to become a larger burden to the Ranger.

Gwen passed him the final bag, watching as he secured it deftly to the saddle. She wondered briefly if the horse would be strained under the load it bore, but the mare was sturdy and hadn't seemed to have a problem all through the day yesterday. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen saw Legolas appear over the top of a nearby ridge, armed with his bow and quiver. He had obviously been scouting. Her mind returned to her concern for Aragorn, considering the weight of his admission to her. Gwen placed a hand over the Ranger's, stilling his movements. She knew he did not want comfort, but she was unable to stop herself. "You know that if you ever need to speak of things," she began, growing a little embarrassed when his eyes met hers again in surprise. "Ah, well..I'm here for you, Aragorn."

Legolas was nearing them now, and Gwen figured Aragorn might not want to speak of this to his friends after all. Still.. "We _all_ are here for you." Aragorn sighed softly, finishing his task at her side. Nodding, he turned away to speak to their elven friend, leaving Gwen wondering and worrying for him.

To busy herself, she began to stroke the mare's sides, moving up to her blocky head, cooing nonsensical things to the animal. Seeing the King's men begin to mount their steeds, she knew they would be moving out shortly. It was a good thing, too. The action would keep their minds busy. Gwen's stomach growled again, and with a sigh, she began to dig around for some _lembas_ to squelch the emptiness of her belly.

* * *

Éomer watched Gwen covertly from a distance as she talked to the horse at her side, wondering what sorts of things she spoke about to the creature. He envied the creature of her touch, wishing he could go to her side and receive the same smile and gentle care she gave to the Ranger. Sighing heavily, he levered himself up off his haunches, throwing the last of the bony rabbit flesh into the ashes of his uncle's fire pit. With his boot he began to clear away all signs of their passing through this area, knowing that any enemies still lingering in the hills might otherwise use it to track their movements. Every hour they grew closer to Orthanc would mean more danger for their party. He addressed the young soldier at his side, a lad named Weslyn.

"Take another and scout ahead," he commanded sternly. The boy seemed to freeze under Éomer's gaze, but he was not sorry for the gruff demeanor he employed. The King had no need for weak men. "The King will want to depart shortly, and we will need to take precautions now more than ever," he said, his voice growing gentler as the lad nodded seriously, rising immediately to do as he was told. Éomer crossed to Firefoot, checking that his supplies were well stowed for the next part of their journey.

He was ready to depart now, but his uncle lingered within his makeshift tent, leaving him to wonder if the older man was still feeling the effects of the foul magic that had so consumed his mind and body for so long. Éomer scowled. Oh yes, every step they took toward Saruman brought them closer to a danger more perilous than any orc or uruk-hai. And for Gwen, too. Éomer glanced towards her, where she now stood, head upturned in the sun, smiling at a mounted Grimbold. The blacksmith-turned-warrior had been checking their flank for any enemies, and had just now returned without incident, obviously.

The sight of her made him ache. She was as beautiful as any he had ever seen, standing so prettily in the sun. She looked, to him, to be delicate and small, a fragile thing. He knew her to be a woman of ferocious stubbornness and fiery passions. Displeasure filled him at the sight of her and Grim together, and it angered him that there was no little he could do about it. Little he _would_ do about it. It would be selfish and dishonorable of him to deny her happiness, knowing that he himself could never provide it for her. Still, he wanted nothing more than to snatch her away from the other man. The very idea of her with him, sharing with any other the blazing heat of her desire, made Éomer's mood black.

Soon enough she would be gone from Rohan, and from his life altogether. Instead of easing his mood, the thought made him more irate. If it were a different world, he would cart her off and lock her away, his forever. But it was not, and she would never be his again. Face dark with his stormy thoughts, Éomer forced himself to turn away from the sight of her, instead focusing on his duties. He strode across the now obliterated camp to hurry his uncle along. King Théoden was dressing when Éomer entered his tent a moment later to report to his liege.

"The men are ready to move out, my lord," he began. "Grimbold has returned from scouting our flanks, and I have sent two more out to check our front." His uncle nodded, watching him with keen, kind eyes. Éomer's jaw tightened, and he continued with his report. "The sooner we leave, the better. We should make haste to Isengaurd, uncle," he insisted, growing frustrated with his kin's silence. At last the King nodded, sending his men away to pack away his few things. "And what of the wizard's companions? Are they prepared to move out with haste as you suggest?"

Gwen's face lingered in his mind's eye. Éomer met his uncle's eyes directly, pushing away thoughts of the woman. "Yes, my lord." He had seen it himself, though he had only been watching Gwen much of the time. Even the dwarf, who was the slowest moving of their group, had been awake and ready. "They will not slow us down," he finished firmly. The King nodded, and Éomer was relieved when his knowing gaze moved on. _You should think of your duties,_ _Éomer, not of your desires. It is madness to dwell on what you cannot have._

And yet, throughout the day the day that followed, he found it increasingly difficult to remove Gwen from his thoughts.

* * *

The dark tower of Orthanc rose like a blade, piercing through the blue of the sky. It appeared to be the only thing still standing erect in the desolation of the land around it, and while the sight should have pleased Gwen, it only made her morose and rather sad. Once, Gandalf had said, the land of Isenguard had been prosperous and green with life, its orchards filled to bursting with fruits of all kinds. The forests of Fangorn had blanketed the lands around the tower in healthy trees. Now, it seemed, the land had been torn open by Saruman's war machine. Large, gaping holes were all that remained from where countless many trees had been uprooted, and great tendrils of hazy, smoky mist curled up into the sky where the great fire pits had burned those trees to ash were now cooling.

"The river Isen had been dammed up by Saruman," the old wizard explained, his voice weary and heavy with emotion Gwen could not place. They trudged through the outer edges of the forest and out into the open, the waters beneath them at least an inch deep. "It seems now that something has released it," he continued needlessly. The steeds had no problem trekking through the water, thankfully. Water blanketed the whole of the flattened lands around the black tower, and here and there columns of stone wall jutted from the damaged land.

"Tis said the ancient Dunedain built the tower from a single piece of stone," Grim whispered from behind her, his voice awed at the sight of the massive tower jutting from the land at a height greater than any structure Gwen had seen in Middle Earth. If she hadn't known what lay in waiting for them inside it, Gwen might would have been more impressed with the tower herself.

As they trudged through the wet, Gwen was distracted by the sight of moving trees in the distance. Agog, she stared at the unusual sight, somehow not as surprised as she would have been even months ago. _There is so much I don't know about this land_. They seemed, even from a distance, ferocious. They could kill any of them with just a kick of the foot. _Or is that a root?_ As odd as walking trees were, she comforted herself with the thought that they had encountered worse things, like the watcher outside Moria. Shuddering at the memory of the tentacled creature, Gwen continued to scan the area, no longer noticing when Grim rubbed her arm comfortingly. He was always doing things like that, and she was no longer surprised by his care. She had even begun to expect it.

Their group approached Orthanc steadily, careful of the obscuring water beneath their feet. They rode between Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas, forcing Gwen to shift to see around them. Gamling, the King's first guard, rode beside Éomer and Gandalf up ahead. The closer they came to the tower, the more damage and destruction could be seen around them. Trees were twisted and lay damp in the rising water, and stone and wood lay scattered all around. It made for a rather haphazard trip. They were stopped at a high, crumbled wall by two most unexpected people: Merry and Pippin. Delight filled Gwen at her first sight of them in months. They looked happy and healthy – remarkable, considering all that had happened since they had seen each other last.

They were smoking their long pipes and chewing on what looked to be a bit of jerky. They laughed loud and jovially at the sight of them riding towards them, raising tankards of drink at them. Gwen beamed and whooped, causing Grim to jump a bit behind her at the sudden outburst. She waved at the two hobbits gaily, before turning questioningly to Aragorn, who smiled and shrugged. Clearly he had not been expecting to see these two here either. Merry stood, arms stretched wide, and welcomed them to Isenguard. Oh but he looked so good! Gwen could barely believe her eyes. As joyous as they were to see their lost friends, they knew now was not the time for reunions.

There was still the matter of Saruman to attend to.

* * *

 _Please review._


	66. Saruman's Betrayal

**Disclaimer** : See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Seven: Saruman's Betrayal**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

As destroyed as the grounds around Orthanc were, the tower itself was unharmed and completely intact. Once Merry and Pippin had taken the few remaining places on their caravan of steeds, they had traveled slowly into the flooded area, where the water grew deeper and more sloshing. Gwen's boots and leggings were soaked, as were Grim's behind hers. A very tall tree, or _ent_ , rather, according to Gandalf, had met them at the base of the tower, his voice a rumbling growl. That he talked was more shocking to Gwen than that he even existed. _Though I suppose I should no longer be surprised by anything anymore,_ she thought to herself rather snidely and with a hint of deprecation. She remembered being surprised by hobbits, and dwarves, and elves. She would have thought herself long past being capable of surprise within this world.

This ent was something to behold, however. He stood, tall and proud, his branches jutting into the sky. Gwen was charmed to see that he even had leaves growing from them. His name was Treebeard, which she thought was very appropriate, since he had a beard made of long strips of rough bark.

"Young Master Gandalf," he rumbled, by way of a proper greeting. Gwen thought it was hilarious that the tree believed Gandalf to be _young_. Then again, it begged the question: how old was Treebeard in comparison? She considered his hulking, wooden form curiously. He had arms and legs like a humanoid, but he was made entirely of branches and bark and leaves. Gwen was very interested in his form, but she had caught the tree looking at her, so she tried hard not to stare. What if it grew angry and stepped on her? She learned quickly that he was affable, if a little slow to express himself. He was very helpful in regards to finding the fallen white wizard.

"Saruman is locked within the tower," Treebeard declared with a hint of what she thought was satisfaction. Could trees feel satisfied? Gwen wasn't sure. He motioned with his tree branch arms to the black tower beside them. "He is afraid." Oh yes, that was definitely satisfaction she heard. She found she rather liked listening to his halting, baritone voice even so. It had a soothing quality about it.

Grim, however, had not loosened his grip since the ent had arrived. The company grew quiet as they considered Treebeard's words. With Saruman locked away in the tower, they would have to either go in and get him, or he would have to come out. It didn't seem likely the dark wizard would choose to come out and face them. "We'll have to go inside, then," Gwen murmured, drawing Gandalf's eyes. At his nod, the Éorlingas warriors, and Aragorn, voiced protests. It would not be safe, they said. She agreed with them, but what were they going to do, call him out into the open? No one was that dumb; he probably thought they were here to kill him. Gwen glanced at Éomer's taut, fiery expression. Maybe they were.

Either way, Gandalf wanted to speak with the wizard, and so he weaved his way to the stone steps of Orthanc and dismounted, heedless of the water. Hesitantly, the King and his men followed, leaving Legolas, Grim, and Gimli wondering what Aragorn would choose to do. When he sighed in defeated trepidation, Gwen knew this wizard was more dangerous than even she thought. _On the other hand, Gwen, it takes a pretty powerful somebody to create a whole new species of dark minions like the uruk-hai._

Still, she didn't protest when Grim brought them forward to dismount into the water. Ignoring the wet filling her shoes as she did so, Gwen looped Burningstar's scabbard around her shoulder and neck, which instantly made her feel a little safer in this place, and made her way to the steps carefully, praying she wouldn't fall and be _completely_ soaked as she sloshed her way through the water. To her horror, even as the thought left her mind, she stumbled on a loose bit of stone beneath her feet, lurching forward towards the steps.

With a startled gasp she started to go down, and righted herself with a lurch, only to be caught and steadied further by Éomer's arm against her. Behind her, Merry and Pippin grouped up close. "Careful, Gwendolyn," he said, eyes lingering on her. She blushed, nodded, and stepped onto the dry stone staircase. She would have been fine without his aid, she told herself. But, he held her lingeringly, and Gwen couldn't help but feel pleased at his closeness. When she was stable, the big warrior released her without another word. Gwen paled a little when she realized how many steps there were to the _door_ of this fortress. It was a lot bigger up close.

"Be on your guard," Gandalf warned Aragorn and the others seriously as they began the trek up the stairs. "Even in defeat, Saruman has great power. The very words he speak can harm you." Gwen shuddered at the thought of being controlled from within like that. It reminded her of her favorite books as a child, the _Harry Potter_ series, and how the wizards in that world had the ability to control others using the _Imperius_ Curse. Surely Saruman didn't have that kind of power, did he?

"Why not just kill him and be done, Master Wizard?" Grim's voice boomed out above her head. Gwen couldn't help but agree with him. Wouldn't they be better off without him around? Gandalf did not agree, and he shook his head impatiently as he looked back down at the man behind her. "He is no good to us _dead._ We need him to talk of what he knows about Sauron's plans." Gwen could see the value in his knowledge, but she couldn't see pandering words with a man who could twist them and use them against any of them being successful. That lingering doubt allowed Gwen to feel fear, even armed and surrounded as she was by the big, armored Éorlingas and her friends. Seeing how Gimli grasped his war-axe in a fighting position, and that Legolas, too, had his bow notched, made Gwen feel better about unsheathing Burningstar and holding it protectively in front of her.

The wizard would not surprise them.

Using some kind of magic, Gandalf was able to open the doors of Orthanc even without the key, and when they opened with a heavy groan of sound to reveal the vestibule within, Gwen suppressed a shudder. The air felt _odd_. Something made her tense and flighty, even as she stepped forward with the rest of the men. The heavy orthanc stone, which the entire tower was constructed from according to Grim, swung closed behind Merry and Pippin, who jumped at the sound. She wondered if they remembered the Mines of Moria, and how dank and _wrong_ it had felt to be within the veritable tomb. Gwen certainly felt the same way now. Still, Gandalf and King Théoden seemed confident enough, and strode forward side-by-side through the gleaming black halls. The opening halls were as bare as glass, containing no furniture or anything homey inside.

The wizard led them a short ways into the center of the tower, where the closed, narrow corridor opened up into an open room with very high vaulted spaces, as if the tower had been constructed openly in this area. In the middle sat a - what else? - black pedestal that must have once held something important but was now empty. Because she was focused on the scenery of the place, Gwen missed at first the man sitting in the lone chair in the room. _Two men_ , _actually_. One she recognized as Gríma, the man who had poisoned the King's mind and body so terribly. He looked as awful as ever, maybe even worse. His lank, greasy hair fell in clumps around his sallow-skinned face, and he worse a dirty black robe that fell to the floor where he sat, cowering, at the feet of the other man. Gwen turned her attention to this new figure, knowing he was Saruman.

Everything about this man screamed _foe_ in Gwen's mind. His thin hair must have once been pure black, but was fading from that dark color to white, and lingered in between the two. He had a long beard of the same color that was in clear contrast to Gandalf's pure white, short beard and hair. He was seated upon a throne-like seat, arrogance written in his features even in defeat. Gwen couldn't see a spark of fear or unease in his features at all. In disturbingly clawed, pale hands, he bore a staff as black as the orthanc stone around them. It bore a white orb in the center. It bothered Gwen a great deal that he still had the thing, knowing that it probably aided him even now. He watched them all keenly with small, cunning eyes.

Gandalf stood at the head of their company, but the other wizard ignored him completely in favor of the others. He seemed to be reading them with his eyes, and Gwen wondered if he had the ability to read minds like the Lady Galadriel could. When they fell on her, she shivered instinctively under the weight of that gaze. There was something cold and dark in those eyes. When he smirked in response, she cast aside the unease she felt in his presence, knowing this man was the type to feed off any weakness she showed. He had the same dark, oily presence as the Ringwraiths. How he had ever come to be head of any order Gwen would never understand. At last, the heavy silence between them was broken when his eyes came to rest on King Théoden, and that smirk on his face became a malevolent grin.

"There was a time, Théoden Ednew, that we held council together without the need for arms and violence between us." His eyes glinted dangerously, and the entire company grew tense as the softly spoken words lingered. "Yet you have come before me bearing arms." He sounded offended, and Gwen could not believe his arrogance. As if they would come before him in any other state! Still, no one reacted, waiting instead for a signal from either Gandalf or the King. Saruman seemed to be waiting for that reaction, but when it did not come, he continue to speak, almost goading them. "You have fought many wars that ended in peace after such a council. Can we not speak of the same?"

"Peace?" Théoden muttered lowly, incredulous. Gwen gasped openly at the audacious request, seeing in her mind the mounds of bodies piled against the walls of Helm's Deep like so much garbage. Their deaths were on this man's hands. He had tried to take Merry and Pippin! How could he speak of peace? The King himself grew visibly angry, and was held back from the wizard only by Gandalf. From his place on the high-backed stone seat, Saruman looked pleased to have drawn a reaction, and Gwen realized he was playing with them. "Do not speak to me of peace," Théoden roared, much louder than before. "Not before you answer for your crimes, against the Westfold and at Helm's Deep!"

"Peace will come when _you are dead_ ," Éomer hissed, looking as angry as his uncle. Saruman's eyes flickered from King to heir and back, then chuckled lowly, the sound dark and malicious. "You cannot kill me, Éomer son of Éomund." He turned away from the warrior without ever moving just by moving his gaze, this time to Gandalf. "And what do _you_ want?," he sneered. "Perhaps the keys to Orthanc? Or the rods of the five?" His words were biting, and Gwen wondered what he meant by them. Gandalf opened his arms in a gesture of supplication, and Gwen wanted to curse him for his kinder approach to this man. Gwen grew distracted for a moment by Gríma, who shifted restlessly at his place on the floor. He looked miserable, and Gwen knew right then that he had been just as much a pawn in the King's poisoning as Théoden had been. There was no way he had wielded the power needed. Her gaze returned to the vile wizard. It had been _his_ doing, she was sure.

"You held the enemy's confidence for many moons, Saruman. Your life will be spared, if only you will tell us what you know." Gandalf ignored the cries of protest that resounded from the others. Gwen made no sound, only stared at the other wizard, agog. How could he offer clemency to this man? He was a murderer! A minion of the worst evil. Still, Saruman seemed to consider Gandalf's offer. At last, he pulled a dark, crystal-like ball from within his robes and held aloft. Gandalf physically recoiled before regaining the ground he had given up, even as Saruman's smirk returned. Gwen hated to see how he toyed with them all. Between her shoulder blades, the scabbard of her sword itched, and she gripped her sword more firmly.

"There is a darkness that festers at the heart of Middle Earth, Gandalf, that you have long ignored," he said at last. Gwen watched, fascinated, as images began to swirl within the ball. Aragorn nudged her eyes away from it more than once, but she was ever more drawn to the colors and shapes she saw there. The two wizards continued to talk, but it faded in and out as Gwen looked deeper into the ball. "Sauron has tapped the source of dark energy and magic, to increase his strength, using the emotion of others as a conduit. He was successful," Saruman goaded, "to a point. He used up his energy source on Middle Earth rebuilding his fortress and empire to the east." To Gwen, he seemed proud of these accomplishments, even as they were not his.

"Seeking more, he sent his servant across the fold in search of _new_ sources of dark energy. Using _my aid,_ " he crowed proudly, drawing Gwen's attention once again. It seemed the wizard's treachery ran deeper than anyone had expected; he had been working with Sauron for a very, very long time. As the wizard spoke, Gwen watched the colors and shapes take form within the globe. _Something_ familiar took shape inside the ball, but she couldn't make it out.

Gwen gasped as a realization dawned on her, drawing all eyes to her. Grim and Aragorn looked down at her, concerned, but Gandalf's gaze warned her not to speak. Surely this wizard was not talking about _Earth?_ Was he talking about Earth? All she could do was listen, for now. Saruman's eyes returned to Gandalf, dismissing her completely. They listened to Saruman's tale, rapt. "The servant returned with another, raw source of dark energy, a single source, allowing him to build up his armies." Gwen, confused now, stopped listening. Who had the servant returned with? Her focus turned to the ball in Saruman's hands, which he was now caressing. Gwen almost swore she saw someone familiar in it. But who? It wasn't clear enough. What image was it trying to show her? Saruman continued to talk with the other man. "Your doom is upon you," he whispered, no longer goading but deathly serious. "You cannot escape it."

Gandalf looked alarmed at his words, and he stepped forward anxiously. "What was the source, Saruman? Where will the attack occur? Tell me and be free of this madness!" But he did not answer, only cackled madly in his chair. "Spare me your salvation, Gandalf," he gasped. "I do not need it!" At his feet, Gríma shifted again, drawing King Théoden's attention this time.

"Why are you with this man, Gríma? You were once a man of Rohan," he said mournfully. Gwen did not feel the same compassion for the bastard. He seemed surprised that the King would speak to him in such a way. Gandalf, however, scowled. "He is a traitor, much as his companion is." Gríma sent a hate-filled look at the taller man. Gandalf waved his pale staff in front of him, declaring. "I renounce you, Saruman, and your traitor's ways. Hand over your staff," he commanded. Saruman looked at him incredulously, madly, and passed over the swirling black ball to Gríma before rising to his feet.

"Fool!" he cried, wielding his own black staff threateningly. "You will never take my place within the Istari! You are as weak as the halfling you sent out into Sauron's hands!" Flames shot from his rod, engulfing Gandalf and forcing the rest of them away from the wizard. Gwen was sent flying into the floor when Gamling pushed into her, but she was cushioned partly by Merry and Grim. It was a miracle she did not impale herself on Burningstar in the process; she sheathed it with trembling hands. Éomer attacked the wizard with a snarl, only to end up in a heap, cursing, beside her. It seemed this would be a battle between wizards only. After a terrifying moment, the flames around Gandalf dissipated, and Gwen was surprised to still see a sheen of disappointed compassion in the wizard's eyes as he looked at Saruman. Moments passed, and he did not retaliate.

"Saruman," he declared at last, "your staff is _broken_." At his words, the black rod within Saruman's hands heated and shattered, sending shards spraying over Gwen and the others. Saruman was sent sprawling back into his chair, unconscious. Gríma looked terrified, but did not move from his place at the throne's floor. With disdain curling his lip, Gandalf turned away from the fallen wizard to address the King, who looked just as incredulous at this turn of events as Gwen felt. "He shall be locked inside the tower once again." Gandalf strode out of the room, a distinctly angry air to his steps. Gwen was hauled to her feet by a still-scowling Éomer, but after a look from his uncle, followed the King out of the room.

Gwen stood, looking at the wizard who had caused so much damage, and wondered why Gandalf had not killed him or the vile man at his feet. Unmoved by pity for either one, Gwen sent Gríma one last, hate-filled look before sweeping from the room.

* * *

 _Please review._


	67. Recognition

**Disclaimer** : See the Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Eight: Recognition  
**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Even as the sun began to set, marking the end of Gwen's second full day spent riding a horse, she was remarkably content. She rode with Aragorn now, behind him, their horse plodding along at a slow, steady pace. She knew they would soon be making camp again, and she looked forward to the opportunity for her backside to rest a bit. Since leaving Orthanc, their company had been very quiet, and a little morose. Gandalf, especially, was brooding, and, though he kept it hidden from her eyes, he clung to the black seeing-ball thing as if it was a rare and precious artifact.

He had had the thing chucked at him out the balcony by an irate Gríma, which might have been funny had it not been so sad. Gwen wanted to know more about the object and had asked about it as they settled into the rhythm of riding, and he had told her, tersely, that it was called a Palantir, and that it was a communication device of some sort. The wizard had been unusually closed-mouthed about the thing. Typically he had been all too eager to share with her his knowledge of Middle Earth and its peoples. Something about the object had spooked him.

He seemed to think it was a highly dangerous device, and Gwen reasoned that if it had belonged to Saruman, it surely must be. Who was she to doubt the powerful wizard? Still, she couldn't get the swirling, blurry images she had seen in the thing out of her head. Gwen only knew one thing for sure – she had seen a person, who had been laying down somewhere. Even the person's obvious features – eye color, hair color, skin tone, body shape – had not been clear, and trying to make sense out of what she had seen was making her crazy. Knowing Gandalf would never let her look into it again, she turned her mind away from the thing and towards her friends. Gwen still couldn't believe Merry and Pippin were with them again. They hadn't been together in, well, since before Frodo and Sam had left on their own and Boromir had died.

It was a hard conversation for them all, to tell the two hobbits about Boromir's death. They had known him to be wounded when last they saw him, but for him to be _dead_? Well, it was unthinkable. And yet, it was true. They had taken the news rather hardly, but it was soon left behind in a sea of stories and laughs. Though the hobbits seemed to be their same jovial selves, something about them – Merry, in particular – had changed. He seemed, to Gwen, to be more insightful than he had been, and more thoughtful as a whole. More mature, maybe? She listened to their tale of convincing the ents to go to war with a fair bit of pride for the pair. Leave it to the crafty hobbits to make such a difference in the battle for them all! Still, for all their adventures and comings and goings alone, Gwen looked upon them as younger siblings. She would have to keep an eye on them now that they were back for good.

They all rode together as a group, Aragorn and Gwen, Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf with Merry. Pippin rode with Grim, who was looking quite entertained by whatever tale the hobbit had cooked up for the Éorlingas warrior. Gwen breathed in the fresh, cool air, a flutter of happiness in her chest. Yes, things could be much, _much_ worse than they were. For the first time in weeks, she did not feel an oppressive sense of doom and anxiety in her heart. She knew Sauron was still out there, apparently amassing an army to destroy them, but she somehow had regained hope. Hope for their survival and for the survival of Middle Earth. For a future.

* * *

King Théoden rode with regal bearing, upright and proud in the saddle. He was some years past constant battle and riding, but his body remembered the motions well enough even so. As eager as he was to be home, however, he was inclined to continue the ride through the night, and perhaps even reach Edoras on this very day, but there were some who traveled with him that were not so used to the saddle as he and his men. Éomer rode with him, together relishing the silence broken only by the murmurs of others farther back and the striking of horse's hooves on the ground. His nephew, he knew, was growing concerned for him. The warrior did not yet understand the great cares of the King, but he would, one day.

He cast a sidelong glance at the boy-grown-man beside him where he sat so easily in the saddle, recognizing all that his nephew had to offer this great land, for all his many cares and mistakes. He would be a steady King. A good King. He had a compassionate heart, if he ever were to listen to it truly. There was a hardness that had grown in him that worried Théoden a great deal, but war did that to men, he supposed, if they were unlucky enough to live to see the end. The thought of his nephew so burdened saddened the old King. Éomer caught him looking in that moment and sent him a half smile. "What 'tis it, Uncle, that puts that look upon your face as you gaze at me?" he asked, a bit playfully, as if he were his old self. The question held a distinct teasing note. It was good, at least, that he still was able to speak playfully. Théoden smiled, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face and arms as they rode. There was no need for a response; he knew Éomer expected no reply. Comfortable silence descended between them.

"Oh, I think of a great many things, my boy," he said at last, inspecting the horizon for any signs of danger. He would not talk of soft things like compassion to Éomer now. His nephew would only scoff and mutter at him and hear none of the words or the intent. Still, there was much for the boy would need to know before the burden of the Kingship passed to him. For now he was a warrior only. He would learn, in time, that a good leader leads with his heart as well as his sword. A ferocious warrior who has seen many battles may lead men on the battlefield, but he would make a poor leader of an entire nation. Somehow, Théoden would have to show his nephew the truth of leadership. Would he be ready to lead in time? He did not know for sure. No, Éomer was not ready for that conversation yet. He would learn, given time.

Instead, the King turned his mind to the coming days. Éowyn will have returned to Edoras from Helm's Deep by now, he supposed, with what remained of his people. He would perhaps never move past the shame the events of that place caused him; it was _his_ doing that they had ever been at the ancient fortress, _his_ fault so many of his men were dead and their families were left to grieve. _His._ This was the burden of being a ruler, and there was little anyone or anything could do to assuage the guilt he felt over what had been done to Rohan at that place. Somehow, he would have to lead his people beyond the ghosts of Helm's Deep, and into the final confrontation with Sauron, if it came to Rohan. Gods, but he was _tired._

Éomer's voice cut through his heavy thoughts.

"What comes next for us, Uncle?" His voice was as dark as Théoden's thoughts, and the King knew his nephew still craved vengeance for his...his...cousin's death. He, too, could still taste the bitter tang of hatred on his tongue as he stood before the traitor Saruman, and how desperately he wanted his blood to flow beneath that gleaming black stone of the tower. Even now he wanted to turn his steed around, and return to finish the job. But it was not to be; his people – the living, not the dead – needed him now. Their needs outweighed his own desires. Finally, the King sighed, heavily.

"We go home," he replied with a hint of darkness in his tone. "There are many things yet still to be done at Edoras." Many of which his Marshals would oversee in his stead, once he had them with him again. With Théodred slain, and he himself unable to retain his duties as First Marshal, two would need to be appointed. Éomer, he knew, would move into Théodred's position of First Marshal of Rohan, and retain the muster of Edoras as was appropriate. Elfhelm, who had already proven his abilities during the dark days of his rule, would assume command of Éomer's éored and become Second Marshal of Rohan. But who should he choose to lead the Westfold? Who among his remaining men had the strength and will to lead his men? Théoden realized that his nephew would be of some help to him here, and could recommend a man of the Captains he knew.

"Once we reach Edoras," he began, drawing his nephew's attention, "You will assume the duties of First Marshal, and Elfhelm will be taking his place as Second. I am, however, left needing a Third. With so many men gone," he shook his head mournfully, "I had hoped you might have a candidate in mind." In many ways the best choice he knew about was Aragorn, who had mustered their charge at Helm's Deep in his stead. Shame crawled in his gut still that he had lost so much faith. But the Ranger could never lead an éored. Éomer seemed to contemplate the question seriously, mouth pursed in thought.

His grip on the reins of his steed shifted, and a bluejay twittered past their company, singing. The sight did his old, weary heart glad. Éomer, at last, offered up a name. "Of your Captains, my lord, I would suggest Grimbold. He fought valiantly to turn the tide of battle at the Fords of Isen, after Théo-" he stopped, cutting off his words. Still, the King knew that he was speaking of Théodred's fall. "He is a capable leader." _Grimbold,_ Théoden considered Éomer's words, remembering how fearlessly the blacksmith-trained warrior had fought, even when his own faith broke so shamefully. He had bolstered the courage of the men who followed him, and would continue to do so. Yes, this man would make a fine Marshal. Nodding, Théoden smiled approvingly at his nephew.

"A fine choice, certainly. It will be done." It satisfied him, Éomer's choice. He turned in the saddle, then, contemplating the odd band of companions who had fought as valiantly as any of his own men. He had spoken to Aragorn once about luck and friendship, but he could see now how lucky, indeed, he and his people had been to have even as few friends as they had. No, Gondor had not come to their aid as was promised, and _that_ sank like a rock in his gut, to be sure, but there had been others. All of them, the dwarf and the elf, even the girl, had fought bravely on his bloody battlefield. Éowyn spoke highly of the girl's determination to save his wounded men, and of her endless work. It pleased him to know that he had such friends, and it no longer mattered so much that they were not Éorlingas. Perhaps he had been too prideful in his regard of himself and his people. No more.

"I wish to honor the men, Éomer," he began, shifting back into the proper position within his saddle. "For their service at Helm's Deep. And our allies," he added. Perhaps it would please his niece if he were to make her friend an honored Shieldmaiden. Though the title was an empty honor of a bygone age, his lovely child clung to it proudly. _And perhaps she should_ , he thought. _There are worse things for a woman of noble birth to wish for in these times._ And his Éowyn was a capable leader, as much so as her brother. He nodded to himself. "Yes, I think they deserve a place of note amongst the histories," he decided firmly at last, missing the surprised look his nephew shot him.

"But they are not Éorlingas, uncle," he protested, aghast at the idea. "You said it yourself just days ago!" Théoden smiled and looked at his heir again from his place on his horse. He noted, with a touch of shame, that his nephew _had_ taken something from him in recent weeks: a closed mind to others. As much as this troubled him, Théoden knew the strong lad would adjust, given time. _Perhaps I have jostled him around a little too strongly of late._ Still, his mind was made up on the matter. It would speak only well of Rohan to honor her allies.

"It no longer matters," he declared, a touch airily. He withheld a smile when the warrior beside him made a strangled noise in his throat. Ah, yes, there was much to be done at Edoras.

* * *

 _Please review._


	68. Peace and Quiet

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Eight: Peace and Quiet**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Per King Théoden's orders, they rode continuously throughout the night. Gwen couldn't say she was terribly pleased with those orders, but undoubtedly she was grateful to see the city laying peacefully in the flat lands ahead, just as the sun was peaking over the mountains. It was an additional pleasure to hear and see the hobbits reaction to the mighty hall of Meduseld jutting from the city, even from this distance an impressive and imposing figure. As they had never seen Rohan beyond the plains of the Eastfold, they found the city of men to be doubly impressive.

Gwen couldn't deny the sight made her heart soar with happiness. The city was untouched by the ravages that had inflamed Helm's Deep, and that was a truly beautiful thing indeed. The homes and businesses of the city were intact, and somehow, she knew, the people of Rohan would bounce back from the losses they had sustained at the fortress.

The King's caravan was met with throngs of people returned from Helm's Deep lining the streets, until the masses of them surrounded their horses on all sides. Each person was handed flowers by the dozen, kisses and hands to their legs and feet, and many, many smiles. The Éorlingas' enthusiastic welcome for each of the riders was heartwarming, but at this point, Gwen wanted only a touch of peace and quiet. They threaded their way through the crowds, headed for the King's stables. Once they arrived, Aragorn dismounted and helped Gwen do the same. As he began to lead their mount into the stables, Gwen stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

"I will do that, Aragorn." He looked down at her questioningly, and she elaborated, "I need a minute to myself, is all." Her words were cut off at the end by Gimli, who fell to his ass from the haunches of his horse, growling and cursing like a sailor. Gwen hid her smile behind a hand, knowing that if he saw her laughing at him, the dwarf would be doubly upset. Still, it was a comical sight, him flailing around like a beetle on its back, unable to right himself under the weight of his own body and armor. Legolas, humor in his eyes, hauled up the heavy dwarf. From him, too, Gwen took the reins. She wanted an opportunity for mindless work, and, thanks to Glorfindel's teachings so long ago, she knew how to pamper the animals.

She insisted despite both Legolas and Aragorn's protests, and, stubbornly led the big creatures into the wide, expansive stables where all the King's mounts were housed. Inside, Grim, Elfhelm, and Gandalf were already removing the heavy, sweat-caked saddles from their horses' backs. Grim's eyes widened momentarily when he saw she led _two_ mounts behind her, but he was, wisely, silent. Gwen found it remarkable how no matter how loud and boisterous a man was outside the stables, they became quiet, almost reverently so, amongst the animals. She knew it was because these creatures did not like loud noises, even as they tolerated them. There was never a time that she could remember that the stables were not hushed and quiet.

Just as she wanted, in that moment. With a smile for Gandalf, Gwen led each of the steeds into an empty stall, one beside the other. Elfhelm wandered out of the stables as she did this, moving over one shoulder to latch the lock on the first stall door as she moved the dapple gray mare into the second. With a look of thanks thrown over her shoulder, he sauntered out without a word. She did not know the man particularly well, but Gandalf had always spoken pleasantly enough of him, and he seemed a capable horseman and warrior. Returning to her work, Gwen settled into the peaceful routine of caring for the two horses. The most challenging part of it all was removing the heavy saddle from each mount, and she began with the mare.

The mare's saddle was manageable enough on her own, though Grim gave her a hand in lifting it above her head to place it among the racks for cleaning. She smiled at him in thanks, and he returned it brilliantly before turning and leaving the stables himself. Gwen removed the martingale and harness from the mare, placing it on one of the many pegs lining the walls of the stable. It, too, would be cleaned by the stable hands. Knowing the other horse was probably growing impatient with her, she turned her attention to the mount Aragorn had used, a huge black creature twice as big around as the mare. As such, his saddle and gear was quite a bit more complicated and _heavy_ than the mare's. With a _wuff_ of air to push the stray hair that had fallen from its braid down her back out of her eyes, Gwen looked around the stables, searching for a spot of help. It would be a nightmare to remove the huge saddle by herself.

She was alone amongst the nickering, snorting creatures. It was both a blessing and a curse. With a quiet sigh, she murmured, "Guess it's just you and me, boy." Gwen barely stood as high as his shoulder. She decided the best course of action would be to pull the saddle from the horse's back rather than lifting, and did so, barely noticing when another horse was lead into the stables. She murmured to the stallion, hoping he would keep calm when she pulled the saddle from him. It might be enough to spoke the creature. With one final breath, Gwen wrenched the saddle towards her, and was relieved when it came towards her.

With another tug, it slipped free of the horse and before Gwen had time to react, it's weight against her chest sent her sprawling to the stable floor with a muffled _oomph._ Though she barely made a sound, her tumble must have made enough of a racket that whomever was in the stables with her came to investigate. Face red, Gwen tried to shove the heavy saddle from her chest and couldn't. It weighed too much, and her arm strength was not enough to force it up and away from her enough to sit up. _God, this is embarrassing!_

The stall door swung open, and booted feet stood in the doorway. Gwen's eyes rose up strong legs and a shaking torso to find Éomer, laughing openly at the picture she presented. The rich, deep sound of his chuckle grew louder as each second passed, until he was holding his chest with the force of his guffaws. Gwen wanted to be angry that he was laughing at her instead of helping get her up, but the humor of the situation sent her into laughter after a moment as well. She was forced to laugh even harder when her weak shoves against the saddle pinning her chest didn't budge the tack. "Damn it!" she muttered after a moment, giving up. Her humor was infused in her voice, and despite herself, Gwen could only laugh harder. _This is the most ridiculous situation ever._

"Get this thing off me!" she cried at last, wet streaming from her eyes from her laughs. Taking pity on her, Éomer strode forward, and with one arm, lifted the saddle from her chest, using the other to haul her unceremoniously from the straw-strew floor. Blowing her mussed hair from her eyes, Gwen grinned up at him, humor still gleaming in her face. "Thanks," she said, turning back to the horse, who had waited patiently for her to remove his other pieces. Éomer returned the saddle to the racks on the wall before heading for Firefoot, his own steed. The humor they had shared dissipated in the quiet of the stables, and Gwen forced herself to focus on her task. These well-ridden horses deserved some pampering, by her reckoning.

Both seemed to be watching her keenly, waiting to see what she would do next. Gwen looked around for the combs and brushes, face brightening when she spotted them across the way on a mid-level table. Crossing to them, she grabbed a brush and a comb before whirling around and nearly running smack into Éomer, who was hanging his horse's bridle. He steadied her with his big, warm hands, but where she expected him to have a severe look on his face, she saw instead that he was _smiling_ at her, making his eyes crinkle deliciously. God, but he was gorgeous when he smiled! Gwen apologized, a ghost of a smile on her own features as she danced around him. Her energy level was high, and for once, she was not nervous to be around him.

Choosing the mare first, Gwen stepped inside the stall, careful to lock it behind her. She began brushing the gentle horse, who nickered softly at her ministrations, head turning to watch her keenly. Gwen smiled at the creature, humming as she worked. She forgot Éomer was even there in the stables with her for a moment, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him move, and it reminded her. He was walking from the stables, but he stopped at Aragorn's horse to lock the door, sending her another smile. "Careful, Gwendolyn," he cautioned, humor still laced within his voice. "These horses are crafty. Best keep them locked up."

The smile he sent her and the pleasantness of his voice could have knocked her over with a feather. She had never known Éomer to be so easy-going! Her thoughts immediately went into overdrive, wondering what had placed him in such a good mood. The mare chuffing at her arm reminded her to keep brushing, and she put her thoughts about the maddening man aside. Perhaps this was just one more example of how utterly mercurial the warrior could be.

Gwen found she almost preferred Grim after all – at least with the blacksmith, she knew what she was getting.

* * *

Seeing Gwendolyn amongst the horses, alone, was a pleasure for Éomer. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the task of caring for the creatures, which was rare indeed. Tending Firefoot had always been one of his favorite pastimes, but that wasn't the case for many people. While all Éorlingas learned to ride with skill, few truly enjoyed the animals that bore them. Gwen, it seemed, enjoyed them. She spoke lovingly to the horse she cared for, whose name was Brego. With a fair bit of surprise, Éomer realized he still wore his tack, and wondered how the slip of a girl would manage to remove it from the warhorse without falling over under its weight.

Éomer led Firefoot into an empty stall, quickly relieving the horse of his own heavy saddle. As he placed it on the rack to be cleaned, he heard a dull thud and an _omph_ , telling him immediately that Gwen _had_ gotten the saddle free of Brego, but had not kept her feet. Lips twitching with humor, Éomer strode to her stall, swinging it open without a word. The sight before him caused Éomer to chuckle. She was strewn back, completely prone, with the saddle upon her chest. Her striking face was as red as the cook's prized tomatoes; the vision she presented altogether causing him to laugh, genuinely laugh, for the first time in as long as he could remember. She joined him a heartbeat later.

After a minute he took pity on her, and removed the saddle from her person, hauling her up as he did so. Truly, she was a slip of a woman, as light and dainty as a feather. His hands remembered her curves, however, and itched to touch them again. He turned from her to tend Firefoot, determined to ignore his body's demands again. He had much to ponder, and their was no better place to do such a thing than the stables, where it was quiet and peaceful. Éomer could hardly fathom the change that had occurred in his uncle.

Before Helm's Deep, he had wanted Éomer to end his relationship with Gwendolyn because she was not of Rohan. Admittedly, Éomer had not wanted to do that at all, but he understood his duties as heir and done as he was expected to do. Now, the King wished to record her name, and those of her friends, in the histories, which by default made her honored, even if she was not Éorlingas. It was the equivalent of she, the Ranger, the dwarf, and the elf being adopted into a family of Rohan, and his uncle's reasons for doing such a thing truly confused him. He wanted to make Gwendolyn a _Shieldmaiden._ It had never been done before. A Shiedmaiden, of all things! It practically made her eligible for any and all noble sons of Rohan, save himself. Surely his uncle did not expect him to forget his feelings and allow another to have her?

It was unthinkable. From the moment he had seen her, so ill on the plains, something within him had recognized her as his. He couldn't begin to place that knowledge into words, but it was there, inside him. She would always call to him. How could he be expected to ignore it? His uncle had spoken before to him of making a political match with Gondor after the war, it was true, but it was difficult to stay the course of duty.

He removed Firefoot's remaining tack, crossing the stables to hang it, smiling broadly when he realized the woman had nearly crashed into something, again – _him_. She mumbled an apology and skittered around him, barely meeting his eyes. Éomer watched her go hungrily. Didn't his uncle realize how badly Éomer wanted the woman? Why would he do such a thing as _honor her_ , unless he no longer minded the match between them? Éomer snatched up a brush and comb, thoughts turning over in his mind. Oh, but he could not deny he wanted her. Enough for a marriage? Marriages had been made with less feeling than he had for his Gwendolyn. Firefoot nickered at him, blowing air out of his nose impatiently as Éomer began to brush the dirt and filth from his coat. He would need to bathe him, tomorrow.

Éomer's mind returned to Gwen, and he risked a glance at her, where she stood brushing her own mount's coat, humming, looking as delectable as always to him. By Béma, he had mucked things up between them enough, and he had bruised her feelings for a certainty. As understanding of duty as she may be, yes, he had bruised her feelings with his harsh treatment at every step. Regret filled him up, and he blew out his breath much the same as his Firefoot had. Gods, but women made him crazy!

* * *

 _Please review!_


	69. Gifts

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue. Gwen is mine.

* * *

 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Sixty-Nine: Gifts**

 **by: Sherrywine**

* * *

Gwen stared at the dress spilling out of her arms, thrilled and touched beyond words with the gift Éowyn had given her. It was made of a soft, flowing material dyed a deep, vibrant red, and trimmed in gold around the neck, waist, and at the hems of the sleeves. It was only just short of breathtaking, and she did not deserve the present. "I thought you might like a dress to wear to the feast tonight," Éowyn began tentatively, still waiting for her friend to show some sign as to whether she liked it or not. Pale gray eyes lingered upon Gwen's delicate features, but she was too busy taking in the gown to notice. Gwen was lost for words. "If you don't like it," Éowyn said, reaching for the material, "I can take it back to the seamstress."

The Éorlingas woman did not mention that it would mean terrible things for the woman and her shop to have a gown returned. Gwen's eyes shot up to Éowyn's, aghast at even the idea of returning the beautiful dress. "Don't you dare!" she cried, clutching the material to her chest possessively. "It's lovely!" Gwen didn't know how she would ever do it justice, and she was very overwhelmed with the gift. It was remarkable, especially given how hectic and crazy the entire city had been since they had returned from Helm's Deep. How had Éowyn managed to obtain such a fine item? Finally, Gwen remembered herself, and earnestly met her friend's eyes.

"Thank you so much for this, Éowyn," Gwen began, pausing to take in the fabulous dress once more. It would settle off her shoulders, and the wisps of the long sleeves would fold around the tops of her arms artfully. She glanced back down at the gown, fingering the tiny, even stitches at the neckline. "I don't know how I can ever repay you for this," she finished at last. Gwen had no money at all.

Éowyn laughed, easing the dress from her friend's arms, proclaiming, "But you don't have to! That 'tis why it 'tis a gift!" She looked radiant, standing in the light, beaming. Gwen knew her beauty had less to do with good looks than it did having a good soul. Éowyn smoothed out the dress on the bed and turned, adding, "Besides, I remembered you saying you wanted to wear a dress at the next feast we had, and I knew you didn't have one in that pack of yours!" She beamed. "It was little trouble to go to, and don't even think of trying to pay me," Éowyn warned. "'Tis one less dress my uncle will try to put on me!" she chuckled. Gwen, still stunned at the generosity and kindness of the other woman, managed a weak smile, nodding at last.

She smelled of horses. Gwen had spent the last three hours bathing the horses Aragorn and Legolas had ridden, and somehow had ended up in a pile of straw-strewn horse manure. It was smeared down her backside and legs unpleasantly. Éowyn seemed to notice the smell of her at the same time, and crinkled her nose playfully at her. "Let's get ourselves ready for the feast, then, shall we?" Tonight's meal was both a celebration of victory and a remembrance of the dead to be shared by the entirety of the city. At first Gwen had believed the feast was to be held in the courtyards, so that more people could sit and eat, but it had been explained by one guardsman that while there would be celebrations in the streets, and food for all, only those closest to the King in rank and importance would be feasting in the halls of Meduseld. The King's cooks had, he explained, been working for nearly a week to prepare enough food to be distributed to each family in the city.

Gwen had been surprised, and dismayed, to learn that she, Aragorn, and their other companions, would be expected to attend. She hadn't thought herself important enough. Éowyn had truly saved the day with this dress; now she had something nice to wear. Nodding, Gwen gathered her favorite hair oil and the small bit of remaining soap she had, following Éowyn out of her chambers and down the corridor to the bathing rooms. The bathing rooms were a true extravagance in Meduseld, and they were used only with the King's permission. It took twelve servants a dozen trips to fill up just one of the square bathing pools, which made Gwen feel _really_ bad, since she had used this same room more than once herself before.

Still, she couldn't deny this bath, and the subsequent hours of pampering that would follow, would be glorious. It was just what she needed to shed the remaining filth this war seemed to heap on her daily. With a smile, Gwen held open the door, motioning to the other woman to pass through first. "After you."

* * *

Legolas and Gimli met her at Éowyn's chamber doors, dressed in relaxed, clean clothing Gwen hadn't seen on them since the Golden Wood. And goodness, what a difference a little chain mail makes in a person's looks! They were both so handsome she couldn't help but beam at them stupidly from the doorway. They, too, seemed to have forgotten what a gussied-up Gwendolyn looked like, because her appearance made Gimli sputter rather comically, face going red quickly.

He pointed one gloved hand at her. "You go change _right now_ missy," he declared sternly. "I'll not have those horse boys sniffing 'round your legs in _that_." Gwen's jaw dropped at his sudden possessiveness, and she heard Éowyn giggle from inside the room, where she was pinning the last of her hair. Legolas placed a staying hand on his friend's shoulder, adding adroitly, "You look lovely, _elen_." And she really did. The red crushed velvet dress had a low, gold threaded neckline that hinted at cleavage when she moved, and the bodice was very loose, flowing down into full, draped skirts that swished around her ankles.

Grim, for his part, was speechless at the sight of her, which made Gwen _really_ blush. "I'll punch any man that dares to stare at you, Lady," he promised with dark eyes. His smile was wicked, and beneath his own white tunic and dark breeches, his arms and chest looked massive. For the first time, Gwen felt attracted to him. _Wow, he looks so handsome!_ Gwen laughed at his words, knowing he was simply playing with her, but Gimli looked particularly pleased, which made her worry. Surely they wouldn't go around hitting people, would they?

Éowyn had expertly pinned up Gwen's hair in a half-up, half-down style that sent her curls flowing thickly down her back and over her shoulders, but that would not obscure her face. She, for a word, gleamed in the flickering torchlight. When Gimli did not add to his sentiments about their friend, Legolas shoved his shoulder discreetly in a move Gwen did not fail to miss, but caused Gimli to redden further and sputter, "Well, yes, girl, you look lovely." He turned to Legolas, waving a hand at the woman. "Everyone will see her," he hissed up at the elf. "I'd much appreciate the support here, laddie." Legolas only smirked, and offered an arm to Gwen, who stood smiling behind a hand, doing her best to suppress a laugh. Éowyn joined them at the door, looking equally as radiant as Gwen.

She smiled down at the dwarf, whose normally chaotic beard and hair were tamed down into fat, red plaits on either side of his face. It pleased her to see such care taken for a gathering of her people. Both women fell into step beside either male, and made their way quietly down the corridor, growing more and more somber as they approached the hall. Gwen was very aware that this would not be a merry gathering, at least at first, and began to grow nervous at her choice of dress. Was it too much, as Gimli seemed to think? To distract herself, she searched the throng for Aragorn. "Where is that man," she murmured lowly to herself as they walked. Legolas heard her despite her quiet tone.

"He has already made his way into the hall." As they appeared at the back of the room, the door guards of Meduseld bowed to them. The entire room was hushes despite being filled to the brim with people. It seemed that Éowyn, Gwen, and the others were among the last to arrive, and that everyone else was waiting for a signal from the King that it was, in fact, time to eat. Servants bustled back and forth from the kitchens, placing table settings and food on each of the long, carved wooden tables, and the smells that were rising up from each one were heavenly. Gwen did not fail to notice the attention they garnered from the hall's occupants as they arrived. Most of the King's important guests, it seemed, were soldiers and their wives.

Gwen did not see an open seat in the house, but Legolas apparently knew just where to go; he led them confidently down the center isle, looking serene and regal despite the many stares following him. He did look very princely, Gwen thought with a glance at his pristine features. For all his warrior prowess, it was hard to remember that Legolas was, in fact, a royal among his people. She swallowed at the realization, feeling as if someone else, like Éowyn, should be on his arm. She was a nobody, in terms of lineage, and everyone who knew of her knew that. Despite her self-deprecating thoughts, Gwen allowed Legolas to lead her through the room, to the very front, in fact, where Aragorn waited at an empty table. The King sat on his throne upon the raised dais ahead, and Éomer stood just behind his seat, looking serious and regal. Gwen ignored the way his eyes lingered on her, and, turned to seat herself beside Aragorn at the table. Remembering her manners, Gwen turned back to King Théoden, who was watching her and her friends at the moment, lifted the hem of her dress an inch and curtsied.

After a moment she lifted her eyes to meet the King's before taking her place at Aragorn's side. Gwen wondered why so many people seemed to be staring at their table, but was distracted by the King rising from his throne, obviously looking to address them. Gimli settled his broad body next to Merry and Pippin with a grunt, filling the remaining seats on their side of the table. Opposite Aragorn, Grimbold and Gandalf settled Éowyn in her place as the King rose and began to speak. "Honored guests, we gather here tonight in honor of those no longer with us, to remember their passing into the halls of our fathers, and to celebrate their lives together in the spirit of peace."

He spread his arms wide to encompass the entire room. "May this meal be blessed." He strode down the few steps to take his own seat amongst the people, which she realized a moment too late was very close to her. Éomer seated himself beside the King a moment later. At his signal, the entire room began to talk, and eat, and for a while after, no one thought of Helm's Deep.

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 _Please review._


	70. Thus We Honor Thee

**Disclaimer** : See Prologue; Gwen is mine.

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 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Seventy: Thus We Honor Thee**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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The low thrum of steady chatter hummed around them, exceeded only by the snap and pop of the enormous fire burning in the hearth across the hall.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Gwen mourned lowly, drawing a low chuckle from Éowyn, who sat across from her. She could honestly say that the meal she had just eaten was the best she had had in ages. Even as the multitudes of men and women around her finished filling their stomachs, the food continued to pile onto the table, this time with a number of puddings and sweetcakes. The stream of glutinous dishes seemed never-ending. When one servant placed a large, mounded bowl of rich, chocolate mousse in front of her, Gwen gasped, drawing the King's – and everyone else's – eyes to her. Reddening with excitement, Gwen lumped a spoonful or three of the decadent dessert onto her plate.

Nobody said there would be chocolate!

"What happened to not eating another bite, milady?" Grim leaned forward on his elbows to tease her, locks of black hair falling into his eyes. Gwen blushed further, shrugging, knowing she really _shouldn't_ eat the dessert. But really, it was _chocolate_. When was the last time she had had chocolate? She picked up the smallest spoon on her plate and went to town, much to Legolas' amusement. It had been a damn long time, Gwen knew that.

She always craved sweets more than anything else in the weeks leading up to her monthly, and damn if it wasn't that time of the month again. _That time of the month... shit!_ The thought of her period made her stiffen, realizing she _hadn't_ started bleeding on time. _Shit!_ She a _lot_ riding on it. Gwen glanced covertly down the table to look at Éomer, who was speaking easily with Merry and Gimli about something. He looked so relaxed and handsome, she could barely believe it was the same man as the war-hardened Marshal she had become used to. _I could be pregnant._ The realization was shocking. Still, she wanted to give it a few more days; the stress of Helm's Deep could have delayed it.

Gwen took another bite of her dessert, mind dancing through a myriad of thoughts. Éomer seemed to feel her eyes on him after a moment, and lifted his eyes questioningly, clashing with hers. The easy, relaxed smile that grew on his face was so handsome and open Gwen wanted to melt right there into her chocolate. Realizing she was staring, Gwen silently turned her attention and eyes back to Gandalf, who was speaking quietly and seriously with the King. Éowyn was, Gwen was pleased to see, looking content and beautiful as she laughed at something Aragorn said, surprising Gwen with her gaiety. She reached out to touch him so readily, and Aragorn did not seem to mind. Gwen raised an eyebrow incredulously at the easy chemistry that seemed to exist between her friends.

Was there something between them? Gwen immediately dismissed the idea. Aragorn loved Arwen, and she could see her jewel laying at his throat even now.

Still, as Gwen studied the man beside her as she took another bite of the heaven in a glass, she realized he was _blushing_ at the attention he was receiving from the woman. Aragorn. Blushing. At Éowyn. And when she looked at her Éorlingas friend, Éowyn was fairly _glowing_ with pleasure. A trickle of unease shot through Gwen. _Oh, this could be bad._ Éowyn had obviously been lonely when first Gwen had met her, and she had often hoped her friend would meet people who she might be friends with. Or more, perhaps. Gwen could think of no one more deserving of happiness than Éowyn. But _this_ was never what she had in mind.

Aragorn, she was certain, loved Arwen. But there was clearly something between her two friends. _Not good._ It was, however, lovely to see Éowyn so radiant, and Gwen was certain, too, that it had everything to do with the attention Aragorn was showing her. Gwen scraped the bottom of her dessert glass, finishing the last bite thoughtfully. "And what has engrossed your thoughts so fully, Ms. Carrick?" The King's voice rumbled through her mind, making her start slightly and blush again. Gwen had not expected to draw King Théoden's attention.

"Oh," she began softly, "Just how lovely this evening has been thus far, my lord." Gwen glanced around the room again, noting with a strange contentment that the others around them were growing more relaxed as the night went on. With a moment's hesitation, Gwen met the King's eyes. _I wonder if it's an insult to him to meet his eyes._

It didn't seem to be. He smiled at her in return, contemplating her a moment before nodding and turning his attentions away to continue to speak with Gandalf in low tones. Gwen wondered what they spoke about. A moment later, servants came and cleared away the dessert dishes and remaining food, leaving the table bare of everything save their drinking goblets, as were all the others. An air of expectation filled the hall, and Gwen wondered what would come next. Something did indeed seem to be happening, as the King, Éomer, and Éowyn all rose and went in various directions. Théoden resumed his place at the throne on the dais, looking out over the crowd pleasantly.

Éowyn returned with a large, golden chalice in her hands, cradled reverently, and as she approached the dais, the entire room stilled in silent expectation. Gwen looked to Aragorn, but he ignored her questioning glance to take in whatever was going on in front of them. Éowyn crossed to her uncle, offering the goblet to him humbly, with her head bowed. Gwen realized then that there was some sort of ceremony going on. The King had a warm expression on his face as he looked at his niece, and he spoke softly to her under his breath as he took the chalice from her. Éowyn's skirts swished as she returned to her place opposite Aragorn, and to Gwen's amazement, the entire hall stood, nearly as one, save for them.

Legolas, Gimli, the hobbits, and Aragorn stood alongside Gwen a moment later, and they watched together as the King studied the cup, its gleaming metal echoing the expensive, finely-wrought crown upon his head, and she was struck by the regal picture he presented despite his simply cut, brocaded clothing, and of Éomer standing just a few steps behind him, looking every inch his uncle's heir. For all their simple, rustic ways, the Éorlingas bred particularly fine Kings, and that strain of royal blood within their veins showed strongly to her in that moment. No, these were no normal men, and everyone knew it. Even the most impatient of warriors waited with baited breath for their King to speak.

Finally, he addressed them, and his deep, cultured voice echoed through the buttressed archways. "We have gathered here to honor those who gave their lives so that we might eat another day," he began solemnly, eyes trailing around the room. Gwen's heart stuttered as she remembered the horrible piles of dead men against the walls of Helm's Deep, and of how her hand had felt surrounded by a man's entrails and covered in blood. The tacky, thick sensation was close to the surface of her memory, as was the coppery tang of blood in the air. Gwen knew she was not the only one thinking such thoughts in that moment.

"Whether the days that come will be blessed and good, as they would have wanted for us, we have yet to see." Théoden's eyes passed over Aragorn, met hers a moment, and passed on again. He seemed genuinely intent to see them all. "But we shall never forget their sacrifices in the name of land and home," he continued, his voice carrying a distinct note of sadness. A sticky ball of tears clogged Gwen's throat, but did not rise into her eyes. "So thus we honor thee," he ended on a whisper, before raising the golden chalice high a moment later.

"Hail the victorious dead!" Overcome, Gwen rose her own silver goblet, unsurprised when the entire hall did the same. "Hail!" The warriors echoed, and the ceremony seemed to end. One by one, the entire hall was seated, save for the King. He stood, watching them, waiting until once again the group's attention was solely on him. "Despite our losses," he began again, eyes glimmering in the dimmed light, "Rohan has gained many allies." The King's gaze lingered upon their table for a long moment before moving away as he continued to speak. Not a person seemed to even breathe, so hung up on his words as they were.

"We have much to celebrate on this night." Théoden reached for Éomer then, arm outstretched to clasp the taller warrior to his side. "My nephew shall take up the banner of First Marshal at dawn," he announced proudly to the cheers and toasts of the other warriors, who obviously were delighted at their liege's choice as their leader. "And, Elfhelm," the King paused, waiting for silence to descend again, bringing a hand up in acknowledgment of the other, older warrior who sat looking surprised amongst the others. "You shall be my second." More cheers followed the pronouncement, and Gwen watched as he rose to accept the honor.

Éowyn's eyes glimmered with joy and pride as she looked on. Gwen took in the swell of happiness that seemed to dispel the sadness of the previous moments, glad to feel it. When the King's eyes swerved to _her_ table, a glimmer of nerves bloomed in her blood. But it was silly to feel nervous, she knew. He wanted nothing to do with her or her companions, and she highly doubted he would even acknowledge them. Still, it came as less of a surprise when he announced to the entire company that Grimbold would assume the rank of Third Marshal. Gwen beamed at her beefy friend, who seemed shocked and awed at the sudden promotion. Gwen squeezed his hand as he rose to take his place beside the King.

She couldn't help but notice half the good looking men in Rohan stood on that dais. _Oh, what a silly thought, Gwen_ , she admonished herself, barely paying any mind as the King beckoned to Éowyn that she join him. It seemed this feel-good promotional ceremony was not yet over. She wondered what the crafty royal was going to declare next. As his niece joined them on the dais, the King beamed down at the lively crowd once more. "There is one final act I would have recorded on this night, my friends." His eyes roved the rows of men, before settling on Aragorn.

"There are those among us who deserve praise of the highest order for their bravery and sacrifice in the name of Rohan and her people." He paused, seeming to collect his words carefully. "Those who were not sworn to this land, and yet who bled for her nonetheless." Théoden raised his gilded goblet once more, to Aragorn, and the other men, by the dozens, followed suite solemnly. "To Aragorn and his companions," he toasted, much to Gimli's chagrin. "May they be long our friends."

 _Hear hear_ s rang out through the room, and Gwen peeked a glance at her friends. The redness of their cheeks told her they, too, were embarrassed by the attention. The King, thankfully, was passing off the goblet, and seemed to be done with the toasts. He turned back to the crowd to say his final words, and to Gwen's shock, his eyes landed squarely on _her._ "There is one final honor I have to bestow this night." He stepped forward, beckoning her. "Gwendolyn Carrick, would you rise?"

Inside, she was freaking out as she did as the King commanded, trying not to look mortified as she glanced at Aragorn inquiringly. His raised eyebrows told her he was just as surprised by the King's attention as she was. _What does he want?_ Nervously, aware that all eyes were upon her and not knowing why, Gwen approached the dais, taking the King's hand gratefully when he extended it to her. It steadied her, even as her knees shook a little. Gwen couldn't help but notice that Éowyn and Éomer both looked on with gleaming eyes. With a swallow, Gwen allowed the King to turn her to face the room full of men. It was strangely comforting when he addressed her, capturing her attention once more and diverting it from the crowd watching.

"It is rare that any one man could be lucky enough to call a strong woman 'ally.' Rarer still, to call her, 'family," he began, making Gwen blush. He smiled down at her, hand strong under her own. "I have been lucky in my life," Théoden quipped, "to have been blessed with _three_ such women in my life, in my wife and sister, and in my sister's daughter." His eyes twinkled past Gwen to Éowyn. He glanced back at her, face growing somber. "There are not many honors I have to bestow upon you, Gwendolyn, though there are many you – and my niece – deserve." Gwen blushed, but remained still, sensing the verbose King was not yet done.

"Were it not for your bravery and swift action in the face of utter destruction, many more men than have passed on might have died." The hall was so still, Gwen swore she could hear a pin drop. "To that end," he declared, "It is my wish that you take up the standard of the Shieldmaidens of old, and wear it proudly, for it is utterly deserved." He stared into her eyes, unabashed in his commands. "Ever may you defend these lands, friend of Rohan, for as long as you are able." He reached around her then, to take up a long, green cloak bearing the white horse of Rohan from the hands of a servant, and while the entire hall watched, enthralled, he placed it around her shoulders. Gwen, too shocked to speak, only nodded.

As the crowd cheered and toasted her new rank, Gwen couldn't have been more stunned at this turn of events. It must have shown on her face, because as she turned away to retake her place beside Aragorn, Éowyn stopped her, smiling kindly before leaning in to whisper something into her ear. "'Tis an honor well earned, Gwen." For her part, Gwen had no idea what to make of the sudden, unexpected award. What did it mean, exactly, being a Shieldmaiden? Almost immediately Aragorn and Gimli embraced her proudly, pulling her out of her thoughts with their congratulations. The hall's occupants began to disperse into more relaxed groups as the servants began refilling mugs with ale, and before long Gwen discovered what it meant to have a _real_ feast in Rohan.

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 _Please review._


	71. Drunken Revelry

**Disclaimer:** **See Prologue for full disclaimer. Gwen is mine!**

 _This chapter marks the end of what was previously written, (with exception to one chapter more coming a bit later than it was before) and the beginning of my intended arc. I am very pleased with how it is finally playing out (my muse managed to get it all sorted out at last). Thanks for all the support!_

 _Also, keep in mind this story is NOT beta'd. Any mistakes you find are purely mine, try as I might to review content several times before posting. _

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**The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Seventy-One** : **Drunken Revelry**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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Breathlessly, Gwen spun around the Royal Hall, alternating between pressing close to her dancing companion and doubling over with laughter with each lively note of the reel that belted out into the rafters. Warmth effused her skin with each turn in her partner's muscular arms, and a wildness thrummed in her blood, awakened by the heady mead stirring in her gut and growing under the magic up of the music.

She had only had a glass, unlike all the others within the hall, but its affects were nearly instantaneous. Gone were her reservations, her stresses, and her heavy emotions, and in the place of each was desire. A desire for laughter and fun, and the lightheartedness of flirtation, and Gwen had pursued these with abandon for the first time in her life. The honey mead was an exquisite excuse to be _reckless_ , after so many days and months of careful decisions.

And so Gwen danced.

She danced with young boys and old men, wrapped up tightly in a warrior's arms during a slow, haunting melody, and now, the blood-pumping, fast-moving dance that echoed her heart's wild beats. It was thrilling, to lose herself in those dances. The entire Royal Hall throbbed with primitive abandon, hard-won and much-needed after Helm's Deep. No one, it seemed, was immune.

The brawny, black-headed warrior who was her current dancing partner allowed his hands to wander a little too far south, ghosting over the globes of her ass, only to be jerked aside by an even bigger Grim. His eyes, Gwen noted with a touch of heady pleasure, were furious. They tracked her face moodily before clashing with those of her dancing partner.

"That's enough for the both of yeh," he growled, his voice perfectly sober and barely audible over the music. Her dancing partner opened his luscious mouth to protest, only to be shaken threateningly by Grim, who stepped even closer between them in warning. "Enough." The word itself was a soft warning, and for the first time, Gwen felt a fissure of pure delight over the domineering ways of the Éorlingas men, which made her snort with inward humor, and drew Grim's attention back to her.

He hauled her close to him without another word to the other male, and turned to pull her through the throngs of dancing men and women. Tipsy as she was, Gwen went along placidly until he plunked her down on a pushed-aside wooden bench. "Sit." The order was terse, and so like Aragorn that Gwen laughed gaily again, clearly showing her inebriation. Over her head, Grim shared a look across the room with the Ranger and his wizard companion, Gandalf.

Gwen, missing the unspoken conversation occurring above her, attempted to stand and return to the foray of dancing, but was thrown off-kilter by Grim's close bulk. Alcohol in many forms flowed freely from the King's kitchens, and a passing servant hoisting heavy mugs of mead and ale through the crowd allowed Gwen to unashamedly grab another delicious honey brew, influenced heavily by the greedy pull of the drink's intoxicating effects.

Surprised at the young woman's change in demeanor, Grim was slower than he should have been in grabbing the drink from her, but after half was gone, he took it from her with a sigh. "That's enough of that, little one," he crooned sweetly, drawing on many years of experience to placate her when Gwen's brightened eyes clouded with upset. Grim's charm would have to work doubly, given the stormy look she was generating. "Besides, you can't drink _all_ the brew, sweeting," he continued with a smile designed to allure. He took a drag of the syrupy concoction with a wince. "I'd like a drink as well."

Grim was pleased when the storm clouds filtered from her eyes and her face split into a grin. _Success!_ He relaxed for a moment, until Gwen bolted around him unexpectedly to waylay another servant for another hefty mug of brew. Inwardly, Grim groaned, knowing it would take all his muster to keep this little hellfire from trouble on this night.

With a gleeful grin, Gwen turned back to him. "Let's drink together, then!" she exclaimed exuberantly, and Grim couldn't help but soften at her free excitement coming to the surface in front of him. Had he ever seen that carefree look about her? It made parts of him ache to see it, but he knew a drunken Gwen brought only trouble. Resigning himself to drinking the better part of her heady glasses, Grim herded her towards the far corner of the room, where her companions were. Éomer, too, was there, placing additional mugs of ale in front of Legolas and Gimli.

Gwen, of course, was instantly enthralled by the sight of her friends, usually rather reserved and staid, bantering back and forth in a lively manner. Grim didn't miss the way the woman's eyes followed the heir, and jealousy stirred his blood. It was hard to focus on keeping her safe from herself when his desire shifted to keeping her from Éomer. Gwen's exuberance distracted him from his black, dangerous thoughts. "What's going on?!" The girl asked, questioning the growing mound of empty mugs around her friends. Grim recognized it instantly as a drinking battle.

The dwarf drunkenly babbled on about it in goading detail, but the elf's feathers barely breezed. "We are engaged in a competition, _elen_ , to see which among us can drink the greater amount," Legolas intoned in his usual stoic manner, but the twinkle of his eyes gave him away. He was enjoying himself. Grim could clearly see who was winning the duel. Gwen, of course, was fascinated by the idea. "Can I join in?" she asked innocently, excitedly. Before Grim could dissuade her, Éomer's baritone voice moved in like smooth, licking fire over peat fuel, barely heard over the throb of music.

"Gwendolyn, such tasks are for men," he said as he smoothly refilled her mug, his body brushing hers minutely, deliberately, as he swept close. He immediately gained Gwen's completely attention. Especially in her current state, she couldn't deny the instant sizzle of desire she felt when she saw him. Clean and still neat despite his own drinking revelry, to her Éomer seemed to be the most handsome man in the room. She forgot all others when he was close, and it didn't matter that they had nothing between them now. It made her heart pang with hurt to remember the shared passion between them.

For his part, Grim didn't miss the challenge that flashed from Éomer's eyes as he passed by. Jaw clenched in grating annoyance as he watched the invisible gauntlet fall between them, He noted Gwen's eyes glaze with helpless, unadulterated pleasure before it faded into her happy drunken state. He wanted to smash his fist into his old friend's face for having so much power over the woman he desired.

 _This woman is Shieldmaiden – Éorlingas if not by blood, by that title alone._ There was a reason why the free men of Edoras had been at her innocent skirts this night, and it wasn't because they had suddenly become aware of her. _She was now marriageable – recognized by the King himself._ It was a high, if outdated, honor – one that the eligible warriors of Rohan would take full advantage of. Grim had hoped to avoid such tactics in his dealings, but could clearly see the game Éomer was playing, and if tonight turned the corner for them in their mutual desire of this woman, so be it. Eyes narrowed cunningly. _Two can play this game of yours, my liege._ He fully intended to win.

Grim felt mildly better when Gwen turned her luminous, doe-eyed gaze to him, and pressed close to him unabashedly. Wickedly, he immediately took advantage and pressed himself against her completely, his own gauntlet thrown down recklessly. He wanted to kiss that wide, beautiful mouth just to spite his friend, and to watch him squirm, but he, too, knew how to play these games of dominance, and now was not yet the time to act. "Grim, will you?" Gwen begged him. "I want to watch." Unaware of how expressive she was under the influence of alcohol, Gwen's eyes pleaded with him.

Gimli, now slowing considerably in his drinking conquest, immediately roared his agreement, which Éomer watched him with hooded eyes. With a slow, curving smile, Grim deliberately brought her tiny hand up to his mouth, where his lips caressed her skin and made her shiver. Oh yes, but it pleased him to know she was not entirely immune to his charms, even around his old friend. "As the beauty wishes," he murmured, stepping gracefully around her to join the pair at the table.

Clearly, Éomer knew he would not be truly competing in this game of drunken dueling entirely, but it was worth it to see the way Gwen's eyes had melted under his to agree to it, and with a silent toast to his competitors, settled in to begin his own descent into inebriation.

A half hour later, a no-longer-sober Grim watched blackly as Gwen spoke softly to Éomer. He didn't know what they spoke of, as the roar of the blood in his ears made it hard for him to hear, but he didn't like the way the laughter had bled from Gwen's face in the last few moments, to be replaced by seriousness and a touch of sadness as they conversed.

Across from him, Gimli looked ready to keel over, and even Legolas seemed a bit dazed. Grim wondered if elves experienced drunkenness in the same manner as humans, and decided they must not. The elf prince had been drinking for well over an hour and had shown no signs of typical drunken behavior, as much of the room had been. Grim scowled into his cup, gulping the last sips of bitter ale, as Éomer tucked a stray curl come lose from Gwen's hair behind her ear, murmuring something as he did so. The woman blushed hotly, helplessly, and dove into her own cup of honey mead to gulp at its contents. As the quiet, swaying melody of music that had been playing switched to a lively, thumping tune, Grim placed his now empty mug on the table and rose to full height before crossing to Gwen.

"Dance with me?" he asked sweetly, ignoring the warning in Éomer's eyes as he reached out a broad hand, palm up, in question. For a moment he feared she might decline, but the excitement stole back into her eyes, and with only the barest hint of hesitation, Gwen placed her hand in Grim's. Flashing a look of smug satisfaction over his shoulder, he drew Gwen into the hollow of his side and led her to the dancing groups now forming on the other side of the room.

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 _Please review._


	72. Discovery

**Disclaimer:** **See Prologue for full disclaimer. Gwen is mine!**

 _Meanwhile, with Sam and Frodo...important happenings are afoot. A shorter update, but necessary_

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 **The Light Within,**

 **Chapter Seventy-Two** : **Discovery**

 **by: Sherrywine**

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Sam all but collapsed into the ground at his feet as they stopped at last, weary and bone-achingly sore from the tough, uphill trek he, Frodo, and their foul guide had taken today. He had never been one for reading or looking at maps, but at this very moment he wished he knew _something..._ anything about the land they were traveling through. Being so reliant on the little toad didn't sit well with him at all. _Slimy creature'll murder us on our bedrolls,_ _Sam thought blackly as the creature crawled along the ground like a misshapen dog._

With a groan, he shrugged off his pack, ignoring the chatter of the creature at Frodo's feet. Sam studied his friend's face carefully; couldn't help but worry over the way he carried himself, now. Mister Frodo looked even more tired than Sam felt, and he was concerned that the hobbit wasn't getting enough to eat, or enough sleep at night. With every step closer to Mordor they came, Frodo grew more and more lethargic and less familiar to him. Oh yes, Sam was quite worried for his friend. Scared, even. How far would this quest for the Ring send them? To death? Sam tried to be brave, and strong – for Frodo. Someone had to be the voice of reason and familiarity for him as the Ring's call became stronger, and Sam would do it. Shuffling through the sack to distract himself from his black thoughts, he found a square of lembas bread and broke off half, passing it insistently to Frodo.

"Gotta keep up your strength, Mister Frodo," he urged quietly. Sam looked around for their guide, growing a little nervous when he saw the little stinker wasn't to be found in their resting area anymore. Still, he was glad not to have to look at him. Sam studied the tall, old trees that sheltered their spot from prying eyes. It was quiet and peaceful, but Sam knew the calm was deceitful. More often than not lately, they had passed closely by armies of the Dark Tower, moving and amassing in Mordor. The streams of the Morgulduin were a big draw for these troops seeking clean, fresh water on the last leg of their journey. Sam worried they could be caught by the enemy at any point. As high as his anxiety was, he was sure Frodo was feeling worse. Sam wished for nothing more than to take that burden from his friend, and to make it home.

But for now, he would take what he could get. A moment's rest.

"Hobbitses, come quick!" A high pitched cry broke through the quiet calm of the morning. The stinker was back, calling for them. Oh, what now? Sam couldn't help but scowl as Frodo jerked into awareness and turned, seeking out the creature who guided them. Together, the hobbits watched Gollum run on all fours to them. He crossed to Frodo, eyes large and worried, and earnestly solemn. Sam didn't trust those eyes, not one bit. "Master, I has found something," the creature panted desperately. He tugged on Frodo's hand, pulling him to stand and to follow him. It annoyed Sam that he would be bothered in a moment of much needed rest.

"Leave off, you bugger," Sam scowled. "Can't you see he's had enough today?" He didn't bother to hide the disgust in his voice. Why should he? Gollum looked at him solemnly, sending a twinge of guilt through the hobbit. He had been very helpful in the last few days, Sam could admit to himself. Getting them past the Dark Towers amassing armies rather stealthily. But what could be so important that he would have them investigate? Frodo and Sam shared a look as Gollum pulled at Frodo's hand once more before releasing him and trotting a short ways away in that peculiar way of his, calling,

"Master, this way. You'll wants to see this!"

With a sigh, Sam rose to his feet. "Better go see what he's on about," he grumbled, holding out a hand to Frodo, who took it and used Sam's waning strength to stand. Together, they followed a fast-moving Gollum through the dense foliage and large, ancient trees, dodging the equally old, shattered statues of Gondor's ancient kings that littered the ground. Sam could hear their guide talking to himself as they followed, and he had to admit the creature seemed genuinely concerned over something. If it was a danger to them, they would deal with that, too. _What's one more dangerous thing?_ Sam wondered when he had become so hardened. Would Rosie even recognize him anymore? It was a useless thought.

They followed the smaller creature for a short ways, only to find themselves perched on a high cliff overlooking the land below, and in the distance, the dark sky of Mordor. Gollum didn't seem to notice the heavy, black belching smoke rising from the east, but instead his attention was on a dense bush, and nothing important to be seen at all. Sam grew exasperated. "What's this?" he exclaimed, frustrated. "If you drug us all this way for nothing..."

The creature looked back at him again, seeming insulted, before turning back to the foliage. He rooted around near the base of the large canopy before turning in triumph to show the pair what he had found.

"Looksies, see?" he crowed proudly. "I has found something... _not_ nothing!" He rasped at Sam belligerently, poking out his tongue indignantly. In his hand, dangling limply, was a narrow, pale human arm. A very filthy, frail arm. Gaping at the sight, then at Frodo, who shared the same weary, stunned expression as Sam did, the hobbit knelt down to inspect the person. Would they even be alive? Sam didn't know, and couldn't help but wonder what a human would be doing all the way out here, away from all the good and civilized things in the world.

His eyes following the hand that Gollum held up, Sam inspected the dirty arm and shoulder, noting sympathetically the scars and fresh wounds clogged with dirt. His eyes followed further still to the human's face, and it took Sam's breath away, to see that face. It reminded him strongly of Gwen, though this face was much more haggard and thin than the lady's had ever been. The dense greenage obscured the person's face and features in shadow, but it was quite clear even to him that the human girl was breathing, if barely. Jagged bones poked obscenely into paper-thin skin, covered in scars.

"Dear me," he whispered as the girl's crusted eyelids flickered in wakefulness, and resisted the urge to flinch when the girl's dark eyes met his. A shadow of something evil flickered in those depths, but was gone as quickly as it was seen. A moment later, the girl squeezed her eyes closed, and her mouth opened to scream in horror, and Sam _did_ flinch then, expecting to hear the piercing sound all around.

When no sound came at all, he felt both relief and sadness for the broken creature. Sam's own shock and horror was interrupted by Frodo. "What manner of evil is this?" he whispered brokenly as they stared together down at the fragile girl, so clearly abused and mistreated, and radiating fear so clearly. Even Gollum, broken creature that _he_ was, was not unaffected by the radiation of terror from this girl.

Something was terribly, horribly wrong here.

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	73. Party Foul

**Disclaimer** – Lord of the Rings is the property of the Tolkien estate. All recognizable characters, places, and events are the property of the Tolkien estate. I am making no money from the writing of this work of fiction. All unrecognizable figures and events are of my own work.

 **Author's Notes** \- I apologize for taking a few months off from this story; between the holidays and work, I just didn't have much drive or time to write anything good. I struggled with the best way to segue into the next portion of the story, and while I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, I figured I'd present it to you guys and see what you think. I welcome any ideas and thoughts you may have.

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 **The Light Within:**

 **Chapter Seventy-Three** : Party Foul

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The hour grew late, and yet he found he could not retire.

It stirred something in him, Éomer decided, to see Gwendolyn so carefree and wild. He had only ever known her to be somber and solemn, and had assumed such traits to be her basic condition. The music and the revelry of the night had shown him a deeper, more joyous side to the woman, that reminded him of her passions. She was more than Gwendolyn, the strange girl with a duty to the heir of Gondor. More than Gwendolyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan. It stirred his blood, to watch her so free, and made him long for better days. Duty and war were their daily bread in these dark times, and how woefully ignorant he had been, to assume she would live through them freely laughing day to day. How could anyone? He had misjudged her demeanor entirely; she was nothing like him at all. More like his sister.

Éomer sat perched beside the massive kegs of brew his uncle had chosen for the night's events, brooding in his cups. He liked her like this, though, a great deal; cheeks red and breath coming rapidly in her chest as she spun. His eyes lingered on the cleft of her back, the place where he had held her to him, and longed to do again. The wanting made him breathless. The fury in that sparked in his gut roiled angrily as he watched, gaze hooded to the outside world, as Gwen was led into the dance, again and again, by his finest captain and oldest friend, Grimbold. He could scarcely blame the handsome blacksmith for charming the woman, but it infuriated him nonetheless.

Éomer watched blackly as his large hands found the cleft of Gwen's back, rubbed, and went lower still. Rage sparked in his veins – despite all logic to the contrary – that any man would touch so brazenly that which had been his. By Béma's holy horses, she had shed her virgin's blood with him, and no other. By ancient rights she would always be his. It did not occur to him to be cautious with his inciting thoughts, drunk as he was, and the night had grown long as he watched them together. No more. He could take it no more. With a shake of his golden head, Éomer rose unsteadily from his perch, swaying only so much as to get his bearings as he planted his feet.

The dancing couple, laughing gaily in drunken jubilation and clinging to one another breathlessly even now, did not see him coming despite the lessened throngs of party-goers in the hall. Éomer was a quiet man despite his large size, and could move swiftly when he so wished. Grim dipped his head to kiss her as Éomer's fist found its first target at his throat, growling in both warning and satisfaction when his strike connected solidly. Gwen blinked in hazy confusion up at him for a heartbeat, unable to follow what was happening so quickly.

"Keep your thrice-damned hands away from her," he roared across the hall, uncaring who heard him, as Grim reeled back in shock and unexpected pain. The blow had been a vicious one that forced his head back, and with it went his body. Agile as he was, it took even Grim a few moments to right his bearings, which pleased Éomer in a violent way. He swore viciously in Rohirric at the Marshal, enraged beyond his own control by the memory of just how Grim was touching Gwendolyn, vowing to break the hand of any man who dared touch what was his even as he shook the memory away. For a moment, Grim stood in stunned silence, even as Éomer turned away from him, satisfied in his violent interference. Gwen's face was slack with shock, and the sight of it made Grim's own answering anger ignite in response.

"What right do you have, Éomer Éadig, to say such words?" Grim spat angrily at the big warrior's back. "To attack me thus?" He wiped a hand across his mouth defiantly, and it seemed his own drunken intoxication gleamed in his eyes. "No bond exists between you," he growled lowly, taunting the man, thrusting one arm out to emphasize his point and gesturing at Gwen. "Methinks she is ripe for the taking." The lewd roll of his eyes punctuated his words, and ripened his meaning.

Gwen's strangled gasp was muted by the enraged shout that boiled up from Éomer's chest as he closed the meager space between them, fists swinging for Grim's smug face. This move was more clumsy than the first surprise blow, and Grim dodged it just as ungracefully before slicing viciously back at the horse lord. For her part, Gwen found herself rapidly sobering under the strain of such hostility. Pressure and pain mounted in her head as the blows passed rapidly back and forth, both men seeking to gain the upper hand in their battle for domination.

 _Over her._ Gwen felt bile hit the back of her throat as the two brawny soldiers beat each other to a pulp in front of her, taunting one another gutturally in Rohirric. For once, she was grateful not to understand the words they shared. A whisper of revulsion danced over her skin as the pressure in her head grew worse, even as Aragorn dragged her from the fracas and away from harm. In the span of moments, Éorlingas warriors had swarmed the space, surrounding the two brawling men and attempting to separate them, and all the while, the whisper in her mind grew louder.

Gwen cried out, voice muted and dim as the whisper consumed her thoughts. Consciousness flickered from behind the curtain that alcohol had pulled over her mind, and vaguely, she peered back into the mob surrounding Éomer and Grim, ill at ease and sick at heart. Blood had splattered along the wooden floors, red droplets growing more vivid in her mind. In Aragorn's arms, Gwen screamed, the sound shattering the muted dimness in her mind. "Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, the sound ringing in her ears like an explosion had detonated nearby.

"Can't you feel it? Stop it!" The whispers receded now, like waves on a beach.

At the shrill sound of Gwen's voice, Grim and Éomer broke apart, and with yawning horror building in her chest, Gwen realized even the King had been roused from his bedchamber over this incident. Shame washed through her, knowing that her flirtations and increased friendship with Grim had pushed Éomer too far. Grim was bloody around the nose and mouth, and bruises were rapidly forming around his eyes. Éomer was little better, with knuckles gashed open and a nasty bruise blooming at one temple. Both sat in rounded respite on the floor, all the fight having fled their bodies and leaving only thoughts behind. Even now, the men exchanged softly-spoken words lowly between themselves. Gwen, still feeling ill from the violent evil that had threaded the hall until just moments ago, stared in horror at the pair of them. _This is all my fault._ With a trembling hand, Gwen reached for wordless support from Aragorn, who stood now just behind her, close. He was cold from the outdoors, and with a now rational mind Gwen realized he must have been with Legolas, who had retired from the party hours ago, citing restlessness.

King Théoden was snarling at his nephew in Rohirric, and Gwen was surprised to see him look chastised, though his jaw clenched in fury as his leonine eyes cut through his uncle to sear Grim. The antagonistic bend in his gaze made her wince. Éowyn glided into the hall as the King's angry tirade was winding down, and she surveyed the scene with cool eyes. When Théoden's anger turned to the crowd, an audible intake of collective breath could be heard, making Gwen wonder exactly what had been said.

"Get out," he snarled to the cluster of men and women all around, sending a few drops of spittle into the air. "This feast is concluded." He managed to say his last with a degree of dignity, though it was quite obvious he was furious at his nephew and the blacksmith. When Gandalf strode into the hall wearing only his sleeping robe purposefully and looking keenly concerned himself, Gwen shuddered, fully expecting to hear her own tirade.

Instead, his solemn gaze found the King. "We have a problem," he declared swiftly.

~oOo~

Éomer nursed his swollen lip gingerly with the damp rag his sister had thrown into his chest in disgust, tossing Gwen a rueful, tentative smile as he did. Gwen did not acknowledge his overture even as it was impossible to miss, given that he sat at the table across and to the left of her. Instead, she listened to Gandalf solemnly, trying to stem the flow of blood that trickled from her nose. _Damn nosebleed._ Her head throbbed.

"In the eye Pippin saw something of Sauron's plan," the wizard murmured gravely. "I fear there is yet much still to do," he muttered to himself softly before continuing to explain what exactly had been seen in the Palantir. "He saw the white tree of Gondor, burning. I believe this means his eye is fixed there, seeking to attack while they are weak. The Stewards no longer have the power they once did," he muttered, again to himself. Gwen could clearly see the distress in his mannerisms, and it worried her. Sam and Frodo had to be there – no way they had made it to Mordor yet.

 _The Palantir_. Sauron had used it, and Pippin, to gain a moment's foothold in Rohan that night, which explained the rise in violence within the hall. Gwen scowled at Éomer and Grim, still shell-shocked and angry at herself and them for the incident, no matter how dark forces had orchestrated it. Still, her thoughts lingered on Frodo and Sam.

Gandalf moved restlessly up and down the hall, even as the rest of them sat wearily on the benches scattered about. The space was entirely empty of everyone, save the King, his Marshals, Éowyn, and the members of the Fellowship. "Did Pippin mention Frodo?" she asked softly, scarcely wanting to know the answer. If Sauron suspected Frodo and the Ring were so close, their worst fears could be realized. Gandalf paused in his pacing.

"Pippin may be a fool, _elen_ , but he is an honest one. I saw no lie in his eyes when he said he revealed nothing of Frodo and the Ring." His eyes gleamed in momentary pleasure before going dull with worry once more. "For which I am exceedingly grateful." He resumed his pacing, while the hall fell silent in contemplation of the night's events. King Théoden's anger was still stamped on his features, but he, too, looked concerned with this most recent turn of events.

"What would you have me do, Gandalf?" He questioned bitterly. "Ride to Gondor's aid? I would sooner spit on the lives lost at the Hornburg than do that, as you well know." Gandalf nodded absently, deep in thought.

"Yes, I'm aware," he rejoined with the faintest hint of humor. Aragorn made a sound of disgust in his throat. He brought his mug down onto the table with a muffled thump and sat forward in indignation. "They must be warned!" His eyes found Gandalf wearily. "I will ride to Gondor, if you bid me thus, Gandalf."

Gandalf eyed the men and women in the room thoughtfully.

"No," he began softly, almost to himself again. "I do believe I've thought of another plan."

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